


Second Chances

by Artistic_Angel374



Series: Second Chances [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Original Work
Genre: Afterlife (brief), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angels, Bisexual Female Character, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Crushes, Death to the man, Depiction of Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Francis Kinloch - Freeform, M/M, Male-Female Friendships, Mentions of Slavery, Mostly angst ngl, Multi, NATHAN REAMA IS A FUCKING ASSHOLE, RIP to my babies, Timeskip, Tragedy, let's get gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 57,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28575150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artistic_Angel374/pseuds/Artistic_Angel374
Summary: Back in the mid 1800's, Anastasia Reama had lived a tragic, but accomplished, life, passing away only days after her last friend - the widow, Miss Eliza Hamilton. In a world where everyone has the chance to live again and remember their past lives, she is reborn in the late 1900's. She finds herself reunited with friends of the past, creating new and old relationships and fixing century old scars. And, oh, did I mention that her friends are Alexander Hamilton and Co.?A story of friendship, love, and Alexander Hamilton.Not to mention tragedy and trauma. Bring your tissues.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & Original Female Character(s), John Laurens & Original Female Character(s), Philip Hamilton/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Second Chances [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093712
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Prologue - The End and The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> We begin our story (for some reason) from the point of view of Lilith Derven, Anastasia's 17 year old daughter, in the year 1801. To set the scene, I suppose. 
> 
> Updates will be infrequent, but it's much further along on my main platform of Wattpad. As I post this, I'm working on Chapter 15, so you can read up to Chapter 14 and get to meet our characters more properly. 
> 
> Let's start our journey, my younglings.

It’s a dreary day, yet so beautiful. These days are always nice. The lovely day is shattered as a single gunshot, followed by another, rings through the air. I freeze and listen, before creeping through the streets slowly. I look around, ever careful. Then my eyes find him, lying there on the cobblestones. I gasp.

“Philip,” I breath, before rushing to his side and falling to my knees. His hands are pressing against a bleeding wound. Although I know how little it will help, I pull a handkerchief out and press it over the wound in a feeble attempt to absorb the blood. His breathing is ragged, and I’m scared.

“Someone get a Doctor!” I scream, looking around the streets. Whoever had shot him is nowhere to be seen. A coward! I look back down at Philip’s face. It’s contorted in pain and agony, and his eyes hold so much fear as they stare up at me. 

“Everything will be alright. Come here,” I say gently. I lift his head and place it in my lap, and he hisses in pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. He has tears on his face, and looks so afraid. I run my fingers through his hair slowly, hoping to soothe him and calm him down. He makes a strangled noise, and I shush him softly.

“Hush. I’ll take care of you until you’re brought to a doctor. Please, save what strength you have. You must survive, for your family,” I say, pausing to brush my thumb gently across his freckled cheek. Blood smears across where I touched. He coughs, and I shush him again softly, still stroking my thumb across his cheek, ignoring the blood. The expression shaping his face is breaking my heart. I want nothing more than to comfort him. He reaches a hand up toward me, and I pull one of mine from his hair to hold it. His hand is still covered in his blood, but I don’t care. Mine is too.

“Who are you?” he manages to ask in a strained voice. He doesn’t know who I am...Of course he doesn’t. I smile softly down at him, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. 

“It does not matter. I am just someone who could not leave you here all alone. For, fear only grows in the privacy of one's own thoughts,” I say. He makes a strangled noise that sounds something like a laugh. He’s smiling at me very slightly.

“You are a poet?” he asks. I give his hand another squeeze and continue to run my fingers through his hair.

“Something of the sort, Mr. Hamilton,” I say kindly. He continues to smile at me.

“Philip. Call me Philip,” he says. I smile back at him.

“Philip,” I correct myself quietly. He coughs again, and I frown with concern. 

“Let us take him!” Men cry, and I raise my head to see them coming. They’ll take Philip to get the help he needs. I nod, and they hoist him from my lap. 

“One minute,” I say, stopping them before they go. Philip is still holding my hand, and I hold it tightly before leaning down and kissing his forehead.

“All will be well, Philip. I promise,” I say softly. He squeezes my hand weakly, before he’s hauled away. And I stand there in the street for a moment. Blood sits sticky on my hand. My handkerchief is gone. It’s okay. As long as he is okay.

“M-mother, you cannot be serious,” I stutter, eyes wide with horror. My mother shakes her head.

“Too serious, my darling. He passed many hours after he left you. You are likely the last person outside of his blood that he saw,” she says, holding my hands in hers. Her eyes shine with sympathy, but all I can think of is the darkness from her words. Philip is dead. He didn’t recognize me, but I’ve known him for my whole life. He’s...The first man I’ve ever loved. And I knew the fear on his face as he laid in my lap, dying. And now he’s...I shake my head and draw back, refusing to believe it.

“They have lied. It is not true!” I say, voice overtaken by emotion. My mother reaches out for me once more, but I flee from her, into my father’s study. I lock her out, and move slowly to my father’s desk. I know he keeps a pistol inside the drawer. It’s a man’s job to carry on the legacy in the first place. This will not matter. I take up a quill, dip it in ink, and write. My words spill desperately across the parchment. For I am running out of time. My last poem, my last words. And the words  _ I’m Sorry _ curling at the bottom. I do not sign my name. I place the quill down gently and lean down, opening the drawer containing my father’s pistol. There is a bang on the study door, and my mother is calling my name. I do not answer. I draw the pistol out. It is loaded, as it always is, and I know how to use it. Father was adamant that I learned how. I move over to the window, and I stare out it. The gun somehow doesn’t feel heavy in my hand. In fact, it feels nice. As if it were made to sit there. My mother is still calling for me. I lift the gun, and the metal feels cool against my head. I whisper an “I love you” into the air, and close my eyes. The air smells of books, paper, and ink. All of the things I love. 

“I’m sorry, Philip, mon amour,” I whisper. My finger moves to the trigger. I take in a last deep breath, and push it down.  _ Bang _ . 

I open my eyes. It’s bright and beautiful here. For a moment, I wonder where I am. I wonder how I got here. And it all comes back. I look around, searching for anything or anyone. 

“It’s you.” I turn toward the voice. And there’s a freckled face, framed by bouncing locks of curls. Philip. I reach a hand out slowly, carefully. He does too. Our hands meet, and his is...Warm. His hand is bigger than mine, and he has the calluses of a poet. The same as me.

“What did you do?” he asks me, a sad look on his face that should never sit there. I frown and turn my head away, hand dropping.

“I lied to a dying man. I removed the liar,” I say softly. His hand takes mine again, holding it.

“Miss, you said what was necessary to  _ comfort _ a dying man. I do not feel as though you lied to me,” he says. I risk a glance, and his gaze on me is one that is kind and soft. Everything but angry. 

“This is her?” another voice inquires. I turn. He’s a man in uniform, from a war long gone. A bouncy head of curls tied back. Something about him reminds me of Philip. Perhaps it is the freckles and the curls.

“This is her,” Philip confirms, and I glance back at him. My other hand is lifted, and a kiss is placed upon my knuckles. I stare at the top of his head for a moment, until he straightens. 

“Who are-“

“John Laurens, Miss,” he says. My eyes widen.

“Laurens...My mother’s Laurens?” I ask. His brows wrinkle in confusion. 

“Your mother?” he asks. I step toward him, tears in my eyes.

“Mr. Laurens...My name is Lilith Derven. I’m your goddaughter,” I say. His eyes widen, and he reaches out to take his face in my hands. 

“You’re...My Anastasia’s daughter,” he says. I nod, and he pulls me to him. I bury my face into his chest. 

“You’re just as beautiful as your mother. I can see her intelligence in your eyes...She must be so proud of you,” he says, holding my head. I laugh slightly, a tear running down my cheek.

“Lilith?” Philip mutters. I turn my head, and his mouth is agape as he stares at me. 

“Hi, Philip. I was waiting for you to recognize me,” I say, smiling through the tears. He runs to me and sweeps me into his arms, lifting me and holding me close. 

“How long has it been...My Lily. My beautiful Lilith. My best friend in this world, a poet greater than I, and the girl I’ve-“ He pauses, and sets me down. 

“Laurens, could you-“

“I’ll leave you two be. I’d like to check up on Alexander anyway,” Laurens says. I hear him retreat, but my eyes are only on Philip. He takes my hands and stares me in the eye, cheeks flushed. 

“I wish I’d told you when we were both alive...Maybe we wouldn’t be dead in the first place if I had. We’d just grown apart. I was busy with school, as were you, I’m sure. I’ve always known you wouldn’t require a man to become successful, so some part of me was afraid that if I told you...You’d turn me down, or I would hold you back from your dreams. I didn’t think I could. I wanted to be bold like my pops, but it seems like the boldest thing was the one thing I couldn’t do,” he says. I tilt my head slightly, giving him a kind look. 

“Pip, what are you talking about?” I ask, using his old nickname. He squeezes my hands and looks down at them for a second, then back up into my eyes.

“Lilith...I’ve been in love with you since I was ten years old,” he says. My face flushes and my lips part in surprise. 

“You...Love me?” I repeat, still shocked. He swallows and nods. 

“I do,” he says. I smile at him and pull one hand away from him to raise it and touch his cheek. 

“Mon doux petit poète  **(My sweet little poet)** , I wish you would’ve told me sooner. Je t’aime aussi,” I say, caressing his face with my thumb. He stares at me for a moment.

“You do?” he asks. I smile wider and nod.

“Have I ever lied to you, mon amour?” I ask. He grins at me. 

“Probably, when we were children,” he says. I laugh and lean my forehead against his. 

“I’ve missed you, ma douce **(my sweet)** Philip,” I say. He chuckles, putting a hand respectfully at my hip. I pull back slightly to look at him through my eyelashes. 

“Pip?” I ask softly. He tilts his head to show he’s listening. 

“How much French do you know?” He hums in thought for a moment, looking at me curiously.

“Only what you taught me,” he says. My stomach twists nervously. Damn this corset. I take a deep breath and lean toward him.

“Embrasse moi,” I whisper in his ear. He pauses as I pull back. He swallows and licks his lips.

“That...Kiss you?” he asks. I look away shyly and nod. He smiles bashfully, before gently taking my face and turning it toward him. His eyes sparkle with adoration as they look at me, before they drop to my lips. His eyes close as he leans toward me, and mine do too. His kiss is soft and sweet, warm like the morning sunlight, and a bliss unheard of. I smile against his lips and I feel him do that same. It lasts for only a few seconds, before we pull away from one another. Blushes spread across our cheeks, and smiles curve our lips. 

“Wow,” he breathes. I giggle and throw my arms around him. 

“Je t'aime,” I say, holding tightly to him. He laughs, kissing behind my ear. 

“I love you too, ma beauté française  **(My French beauty)** ,” he says. I giggle, and then shriek as he lifts me up. He’s spinning with me, and I hold on tighter. When he finally puts me down, I step back and sway.

“You’ve made me dizzy!” I giggle, grinning at him. He laughs at me, and I hug him tightly. Someone clears their throat, and we jump, moving away from each other. Laurens smiles at us. 

“I take it your feelings were mutual?” he asks. Philip blushes and nods.

“U-um, how are my parents?” he asks, changing the subject. Laurens’ face drops. 

“They’re...Grieving. Not just you, but Lilith. And they’re still searching for Evangeline,” he says. For a moment, my heart breaks. The Hamilton’s are grieving for  _ me _ as well? I’m not even their daughter, I’m not of their blood at all, but they still grieve for me? Then my attention is drawn away from the fact. I look at Philip and raise an eyebrow. 

“Who’s Evangeline?” I ask. He looks at me for a moment, silent. 

“You are,” he says. I crinkle my eyebrows in confusion, tilting my head.

“What?” Laurens and I ask in unison, each with differing ratios of shock and confusion. Philip takes my hand, seemingly planning out his response.

“My mind was so blurred after I got shot. I was looking at the sky and still didn’t know which way was up. When I saw you, I couldn’t see your face. Not in the literal sense, but it didn’t click. In my mind you were a pretty stranger with pretty words, and I couldn’t see you as Lilith. Maybe it was my own mind’s way of trying to be merciful, because knowing that it was you I was dying on would’ve been many times worse than believing I was dying in the arms of a stranger. I tried to describe you to my mom, I wanted to have you speak at my funeral,” he looks up at Laurens to address him instead. “We couldn’t just call her ‘the girl in the purple dress,’ so my mom decided to call her Evangeline. It’s supposed to mean bringer of good news, which she associated with Lilith comforting me.” The way he’d described it all had been so poetic and sad. And he’d wanted me to speak at his funeral? What...What have I done? I turn to Philip.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling overridden with guilt. He puts his other hand over mine. 

“Lilith, it’s perfectly fine-“

“But it’s  _ not _ . I caused your family so much pain and uncertainty. They may never know that it was me who sat with you, and they’ll live the rest of their lives wondering who I was. Not to mention that I’ve caused them more grieving by taking my own life,” I exclaim, tears welling up in my eyes. The outburst is so unladylike, and nothing like how my mother taught me to act. Yes, speak to be heard, but stand strong. Women are already seen as weak, do not allow yourself to show weakness if you wish to be taken seriously. Show emotion with words, not with your tears. Philip wipes a stray tear from my cheek, kissing my forehead. 

“Don’t cry, mon amour,” he mutters softly. I hiccup and nod, taking a deep breath to pull myself together. There’s a long silence.

“I want to show you kids something,” Laurens says, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. I grin slightly. 

“You just aged yourself a lot, Mr. Laurens,” I giggle. He sighs and rolls his eyes fondly, shaking his head. He turns and waves for us to follow him. We do so, hand in hand. Eventually, he leads us to a cliff. The horizon is a painting of beautiful colors, which reflect serenely off the waves of the deep blue waters below the cliff. 

“It’s beautiful,” I say, awestruck. Philip is at a complete loss for words beside me. 

“As is everything in heaven,” Laurens says, eyes remaining glued to the horizon. I release Philip’s hand to climb a bit higher on the cliff, standing beside Laurens. He looks at me and I look back.

“As much as it saddens me that you’ve both come so early...Welcome to the afterlife,” he says. I smile slightly. 

“Thank you, Mr. Laurens. I’m glad to have finally met you.”

  
  


“My mother talked of you often, Mr. Laurens,” I say, staring across the sky. I pull at the petals of my flower crown absently. Laurens turns toward me.

“Did she?” I nod, smiling softly.

“She would tell my brothers and I stories of you, and read us your letters. And she told me once that when you saw me as an infant, you looked at me as if I were yours. You had the same love in your eyes as my father did, which is why they decided to make me your goddaughter,” I say. I try to imagine it. My infant self in his arms, a look in his eyes that can be described only as the all too pure pride of a loving father. I will never be able to feel that pride. I have robbed myself of it. Somehow, though, I do not worry. I am with Philip now, and John, and other family that has passed. I am content.

“Mon bien-aimé  **(My beloved)** Anastasia,” he says, soft and fond. My smile is sad now, and I place the flower crown in my lap to prevent myself from crushing it.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” I ask. I miss my mother. My father. My blessed little brothers. 

“Not in the way that I love my Alexander, or in the way she loves your father, but, yes. She and I loved each other deeply,” he says, smiling sadly. I nod.

“She told me that she saw you at that ball and could tell you were different. She approached you, and you looked at her with all the politeness of a man that thought he was going to have to fend her off like other women. But the first thing she did when she reached you was turn her gaze across the room to Alexander, and whisper in a tone only you would hear ‘you love him, don’t you?’” I say, remembering the story my mother told me when teaching me to accept others. We never owned slaves. We claimed to, but we paid them and treated them as humans. And we’d never harmed them. They had families, children I’d played with. I smile softly at him, and he returns it.

“She’s always been such a strong, intelligent, and accepting woman. I never felt as though she was disgusted by me, and I never felt unsafe in her presence. She and your father were more of a family to me than my own blood,” he says, pausing for a moment before reaching for my hand and adding, “and when you were born, you were as well.” I hold onto his hands and gaze at him softly. 

“She’s always wished you could have loved him openly,” I say, unaware of the tear rolling down my cheek. He reaches up to wipe the tear away, and pulls me to him. 

“Mon petit tout  **(My little everything)** ,” he mutters. I can’t help but laugh.

“Mother told me you called me that,” I say, pressing my cheek against his coat. We sit silently for a moment, the both of us reminiscing on our individual memories of my mother - his Anastasia - and longing to be back with her. We move away from each other in unison, and he smiles at me with an adoring look I’ve only ever seen from my father. He lifts the flower crown from my lap and places it on my head, grinning at me. 

“I didn’t know it was possible for people to accept this part of me until I met your mother. She looked at me with a teasing and playful twinkle in her eyes, and I could always talk to her without fear of judgement,” he says fondly. I touch the flowers in my hair, a fond smile on my own lips.

“She taught us that we do not choose how we are made, or how we are born. She said that we must treat everyone as we feel we should be treated. It is why we never owned slaves,” I say. John chuckles.

“Yes, your mother and I were adamant abolitionists. She had so much passion, especially when she was young and newly wedded. She went against the societal standards of women and we all admired her for it. Lafayette was quite taken with her,” he says. I gasp and put a hand over my mouth.

“Marquis de Lafayette and my mother?” I ask, mouth agape with a surprised grin. He laughs at my expression.

“Yes, but as far as I am aware, all that was shared was a few dances and some flirting in French. Your mother knew about his wife, however, and respected his love for her. Ever self sacrificing, your mother,” he says. I sigh and nod. 

“That she is, ma chère mère  **(My dear mother)** ,” I say. He pats my shoulder.

“She’s-“

“Mr. Laurens!” We both turn when we hear Philip. He looks panicked. Afraid. Laurens and I both rise.

“What is it, Philip?” he asks, voice steady. Ever the soldier. Philip swallows

“It’s my father. He’s about to duel with Aaron Burr.”

Laurens has descended to be with Alexander for the duel. I hold tightly to Philip’s hand as we watch from above. He flinches when his father is shot, but Alexander seems quite calm considering the situation. Typical Alexander. He’s taken to a doctor, and Laurens comes back to retrieve Philip. 

“We should be with him,” he says. Philip nods, and his hand slips from mine. 

“Time passes differently when you don’t watch. It will only be a few minutes for you. We’ll be back soon,” he says, looking briefly at me. I nod, and I watch them go. Then I’m alone. Is this what it was like for Laurens? Long and lonely silence? I wait, eventually sitting in the grass. Sounds of nature surround me, so it’s not a deafening quiet, but I miss the presence of another person. I find myself weaving more flower crowns, and singing a French lullaby my mother sang to me as a child. I’m about halfway through my third flower crown when a voice breaks through my song. 

“My dear Laurens...And Philip?” I look up. It’s Alexander. He’s been reunited with his lover and his son. For a moment, I think to rise. I decide against it. Let him have his moment with the ones he loves first. I return to my flower crown, and continue to sing. I sound nothing like my mother, but it’s comforting nonetheless. 

“Lilith?” My singing stops as I look up, and I smile. Dropping the half-made crown, I rise to my feet.

“Monsieur Hamilton,” I say with a curtsy. He breaks away from Laurens and Philip to come forth and embrace me.

“Do not be so formal with me, my dear. You are like a daughter to me,” he says, sounding...Heartbroken? I wrap my arms around him in an effort to comfort him. 

“Darling, why did you do it? Why did you leave your poor mother in the manner of which you did? You have no idea how much heartbreak we felt in losing you. Lafayette returned for your funeral. Why, Lilith,  _ why _ ?” he asks desperately. I...I caused all that? 

“Because she’s Evangeline.” Alexander pulls away from me to look at his son. 

“She’s...What do you mean she’s Evangeline? You would’ve recognized her, and you didn’t know who the woman was. That’s why we’ve called her Evangeline,” he says. Philip shakes his head and moves to my side, taking my hand.

“My vision was blurred and my mind wasn’t working correctly. Think about it, Pops. Look at her. She’s exactly as I described Evangeline,” he says. Alexander looks from Philip to me and stares for a moment. 

“I don’t understand why being Evangeline would cause her to-“

“I felt guilty. So guilty that it hurt. I couldn’t take it,” I say, fingers twitching in Philip’s grasp. Alexander stares at me, shocked. Then suddenly he has my face between his hands.

“You had nothing to feel guilty for. I should’ve stopped him,” he says. I blink back tears.

“I should’ve told him I loved him sooner. Perhaps the three of us would not be here in this moment,” I say. The hand against mine flexes.

“Do not think in what if’s. What if’s will only destroy us,” Philip says. Alexander releases my face to look at his son, and I look at him too. 

“Mon doux petit poète,” I say with teary eyes, releasing his hand to touch his cheek. Alexander chuckles a little.

“We always hoped you’d fall in love,” he says. I grin a little bit.

“The plan always was to have us married anyway, wasn’t it? You wanted Derven-Hamilton grandchildren. That’s what mother said anyway,” I say. Alexander and Laurens both laugh, and Philip turns his head away to hide a blush rising to his cheeks. 

“It has been a while since I’ve been to a Derven wedding,” Laurens says. Mother mentioned that the four had come to her wedding. Laurens had given a speech, and danced with her. She said that until the day I was born, the day she married my father was the best day of her life. Not just because of her marriage to my father, but because of her friends, whom she loved so dearly. I can see why. 

  
  
As the years go by, more join us, and I meet many whom I never had the chance to meet. I’m reunited with others. My parents, my brothers, Eliza, all of Philip’s siblings. I’m properly introduced to people whom I haven’t met since I was born, or very young. I meet spouses and nieces and nephews. They all remain in their best form. Some being as they were when they died, and others appearing younger. Many reunions are tearful, joyous. When I first saw my mother, some ten years after my father passed away, I broke into sobs and collapsed in her arms. We all spent years in the blissful afterlife together, creating memories we never got. Philip and I get married in the presence of our families and friends. In the year 2016 on the regular Earth, I see a young woman portraying pieces of mine and my mother’s stories in a big theater in New York, in a show that is big on what is now known as Broadway. It is after I see this that the disappearances occur. The first to go is General Washington. Then my grandparents, and Philip’s. Years pass and Angelica is gone. A year later and Mr. Mulligan and Lafayette, then my father. The following year, Mr. Laurens, Alexander, my mother, and Eliza are gone. Two years and Aunt Peggy disappears. Very soon, it is Philip and I, and our siblings and their families. We await the certain fates of disappearance. And it is to my horror that Philip is gone first. Months later, I see a bright light. Each memory of my life flashes through my mind rapidly, and the light swallows me. The last thing I can see in my mind is Philip. Philip. Philip.  _ Philip… _


	2. Chapter 1: A New Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We shift our point of view to that of our main character, Anastasia Reama. 
> 
> That's it. That's what happens. 
> 
> Oh! And we're introduced to a smol child. Who could this child be?

**6th grade:**

There are nearby sniggers as I start eating my lunch. As I look up, I spot a table of boys and girls, laughing at a lonely boy with curls. I recognize him. He’s always drawing in class. His face is hidden by his hair, but I can tell by his posture that he’s upset. He’s staring at an empty table. My eyes fall to the ground around it. Pages of his sketchbook have been ripped out, drawings covered up and destroyed by black marks. I stand up. 

“Ana?” Felicity asks. I watch the dejected boy collect the remnants of his book and hurry from the lunch room. 

“I...Am not hungry,” I say. I gather my things from the ground and pick up my tray, dumping all the food on my way out. I follow him to the art room, where I can see him weeping silently. I slowly and quietly put my bag down and clear my throat. He immediately stiffens. 

“It’s John Laurens, isn’t it? That is your name?” I ask, trying to push down my French accent. He sniffles and nods. I slowly move to sit next to him.

“I’m Anastasia,” I say. He wipes the tears off his cheeks before looking at me.

“I know,” he says. I smile slightly, before frowning again.

“I saw what they did to your sketches. It was...Wrong. Cruel. You do not deserve that,” I say. He looks back down.

“It’s not your fault,” he says softly. He looks so distant and sorrowful that it hurts. 

“Non, but it is not fair. No one deserves the treatment they give to you,” I say, placing a gentle hand against his arm. He looks at me for a moment, before his eyes drop to stare at the hand on his arm.

“It’s just because I’m different. People don’t like what they don’t understand, so they...They treat me like that,” he says. My frown deepens. 

“It is South Carolina...The people here have never been accepting of those who are different. The only reason we live here is because of mon père - that is, my father - has family here. They were not so accepting of me when I moved here in the fifth grade,” I say, French accent heavy, especially when I slip up into my native tongue. John looks at me.

“You know, even with the accent, sometimes I forget you’re French,” he says, smiling slightly. I sigh and roll my eyes, propping my head up on the table. 

“Oui, but only half. No offense to you, but I much prefer the French to Americans. I wish I had a French father. Perhaps he wouldn’t make me live in this place,” I say. He laughs a little, and I smile and giggle with him. I’m glad I could make him smile. I smile at him for a moment, before tucking one of his curls behind his ear.

“Would you like to be friends, John?” I ask. He looks away for a moment, biting his lip.

“Do you really want to be friends with the gay kid?” he asks. I tilt my head. 

“What is...I do not think that is a word translated into French. What does it mean?” I ask. He swallows.

“I’m not attracted to girls. I like...Other boys,” he says softly. My gaze softens.

“Why would that matter? I do not care if you like other boys or if you like girls. You should have a friend,” I say, smiling sweetly. He eyes me warily for a moment, before smiling. 

“Okay. Let’s be friends,” he says. I laugh and clap. In this moment, I immediately decide that I will love and protect John for as long as he needs me to, no matter what happens.

“So, do you want a new sketchbook? Or- Oh, oh! Do you want to see one of mine?!”


	3. Chapter 2: Insults in French

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We continue further into Anastasia's life, and the friendship between herself and John. 
> 
> #Isuckatsummaries

**8th grade:**

“Can anyone tell me what age you remember your past lives, if you’ve had them?” our Health teacher asks. My hand shoots up. 

“Ms. Reama?” She asks, pointing at me. My hand drops, and I grin at her.

“After you turn eighteen. Specifically, it’s the day and time that your last life or lives ended. In rare cases, you remember before you turn eighteen, which usually happens in cases where they died before turning eighteen,” say. She smiles at me.

“Very good. Now, who knows the general number of lives a person has lived during this era?” she asks, looking away from me and looking around the class. I know the answer to this one too, but she doesn’t usually pick me twice in a row. John looks at me and I mouth  _ three _ at him. He nods and we both look back at the teacher. There’s giggling in the back of the classroom, and I glance toward it over my shoulder. There are two girls there, laughing their asses off. 

“Ms. Malore?” Our teacher asks. One of the girls looks up, giving a deer-caught-in-headlights look. 

“Um...seven?” she asks, voice two octaves higher than usual. Our teacher clicks her tongue.

“Idiots complets  **(Complete idiots)** ,” I mutter. John covers a laugh with a fake cough, but I can see him hiding his grin in his hair. 

“As I thought, you were not paying attention. Could anyone remind Ms. Malore of the answer?” Mrs. Stewer asks. The room is silent for several moments. I nudge John, and he looks at me. I motion with my head, and he quickly shakes his. I take his hand and give it a squeeze, giving him a reassuring smile. He looks back at the teacher and swallows, before raising his hand. She looks pleasantly surprised by his offering of an answer, and points at him.

“Yes, Mr. Laurens?” she asks. I give his hand another squeeze.

“Usually it’s three or four, but the most common is three,” he says, voice shaking ever so slightly. Mrs. Stewer grins at him and nods.

“Yes, Mr. Laurens. That is correct. Well done,” she says. John brightens and turns to look at me. 

“It’s just because he got fed the answers, the dumbass,” I hear muttered behind me. I turn my head to the side ever so slightly, eyes still on Mrs. Stewer.

“What was that, cul grossier  **(rude ass)** ?” I mutter lowly. John gives me that “leave it alone” look. He doesn’t want to get in trouble...Again. I know how much the other kids piss him off. It pisses me off too. I won’t stand for it. 

“What did you say?” The kid - I now recognize him as Isaac - growls. Despite the intelligent sounding name, he’s a complete idiot and loves to pick on John. 

“I said you were being a cul grossier, you morceau de poubelle  **(piece of trash)** ,” I growl back. The bell rings, and John and I start gathering our things.

“What did you just call me you immigrant bitch?!” Isaac screams, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head down, smacking it on the table. My ears ring and my vision is blurry, but I still see the moment John punches him in the jaw. I can hear screaming, but John is quickly taking up my field of vision, brushing hair out of my face. The ringing in my ears is still there, but I can hear him talking to me.

“Hey, hey. Look at me. Anastasia, look at me,” he says, holding my face. I blink sluggishly for a moment, wondering if I have a concussion. 

“Take her to the nurse immediately,” Mrs. Stewer says. I can see John moving, and then I’m being lifted. 

“We’ll get everything, just get her taken care of,” I hear Lydia say. The ringing is dying down, and my vision straightens out. 

“Quel morceau de merde  **(What a piece of shit)** ,” I mutter. John laughs a little and looks down at me. 

“Are you ok?” he asks. I shrug and wave one hand, the other looping around his neck.

“Ehhh, oui, je pense  **(yes, I think)** ,” I say. He raises an eyebrow at me. Right. I’m speaking French. He only knows what I’ve taught him. 

“Sorry, I switch back to my native tongue when I get disoriented or I’m tired,” I say, my accent heavier than usual. He nods and keeps carrying me in silence until we reach the nurse’s office.

“Mr. Laurens, back again I see. What is it...Why do you have Ms. Reama in your arms?” Nurse Agatha asks. John sets me in a chair carefully.

“Another student bashed her head into the table,” he says. The nurse looks at where he’s hiding his arm behind his back.

“And I’m going to guess you punched him, Mr. Laurens?” she asks. He nods slowly. Nurse Agatha sighs and rolls her chair over to me. A light is shined in my eyes, and then she runs her finger back and forth in front of me. 

“She has a minor concussion, but should be alright to go back to class. You, on the other hand, need to have your hand looked at,” she says, looking back at John. She stands up as he holds out his hand for her to look at. I can see it bruising already. She mutters something before going over to the small fridge where she keeps the ice packs. John sits next to me, thanking her quietly when she hands him an ice pack. He holds it on his hand, and I reach out to put my hand on top of it. 

“Merci, mon cher  **(thank you, my dear)** John,” I say softly. He smiles at me.

“Tu es la bienvenue, ma bien-aimée  **(you are welcome, my beloved)** Anastasia,” he says, stumbling over the words some. I laugh a little, then lean on him. The nurse’s room door bursts open, and we both jump.

“Oh my god, Ana are you okay? I can’t believe Isaac did that to you!” Lydia cries, dropping mine and John’s bags by the door before she’s rushing over to me. I raise a hand slightly.

“Calme, calme,” I say gently. She takes a deep breath and nods. 

“I’m fine, mon amie,” I say, offering her a comforting smile. She looks over me for several seconds, as if she thinks I’m lying to her, before smiling at me.

“Okay. I was worried about you,” she says, patting my knee. I put a hand on top of hers and smile.

“Do not worry about me, mon amie. I’m tougher than I look,” I say, patting her hand. She laughs. 

“Oh, believe me, I know,” she says. She awkwardly looks at John.

“So, uh...How’s your hand?” she asks, pointing at it. He lifts the ice pack and the three of us wince at the purplish knuckles. 

“Ow,” Lydia mutters. I reach over and hold his hand, running my fingers softly over the cold knuckles. He flinches slightly, and I mutter an apology.

“I should head to class before I’m late. I’ll let the teacher know what happened, Ana,” Lydia says, standing up. I look at her and nod, smiling at her. She leaves the nurse’s office, and I’m left with John. 

“You didn’t have to punch him you know. You really shouldn’t have,” I say softly. He sighs.

“Ana, he called you an immigrant b-“ he cuts himself off as he glances at the nurse. “And I couldn’t just let him slam your head into a table like that without repercussions. No one is going to hurt you if I have anything to say about it.” I look up at him and smile a little.

“You’re a true gem, John Laurens. Thank you...Thank you for caring about me so much,” I say, wrapping my arms around him in a hug. He chuckles and returns the hug, which we only hold for a few seconds. 

“Are we ok to go back to class, mademoiselle?” I ask the nurse, standing up to get my bag. She looks up at me, then at John.

“Let me wrap up your knuckles, and I’ll give you two a pass and you can head back,” she says, rolling her chair over to John. He moves the ice and allows her to wrap up his knuckles while I watch. The bell rings as she finishes, and she rolls back over to her desk and writes on some slips of paper. She hands them to me while John pulls his bag onto his shoulders. 

“Merci, madame,” I say with a smile. She smiles back at me. 

“How do you say you’re welcome?” she asks. I laugh. 

“De rien,” I answer. She chuckles.

“De rien,” she says, butchering it. I appreciate the gesture anyway. I lift my hand in a wave and follow John out of the nurse’s office. He offers me his arm and I giggle, looping my arm through it as he leads me to my classroom. I hand him one of the slips and take a step toward my classroom.

“Hey, you’re forgetting something,” he says cheekily, grabbing my arm. I look over my shoulder and roll my eyes at him. Ever since I told him about “la bise” he has demanded that it be our standard greeting and goodbye. I lean toward him and kiss both of his cheeks, then lean away, and he’s grinning like he won the lottery. I giggle and shake my head at him.

“Bye John,” I say quietly as I open the door. He starts walking down the hall and looks over his shoulder. 

“Au revoir, Ana.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - “La bise” is the term for the French cheek kisses, which are a greeting that sort of replace hugs, according to my two minute Google research


	4. Chapter 3: The Might of Anastasia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody fucks with John. Not if Anastasia has anything to say about it.

**Sophomore Year:**

Ah yes, Algebra II, my least favorite class. Well, maybe not my least favorite. Physical education is worse. At least  _ this _ teacher is nice to me. It’s not that I’m necessarily bad at the class - I’ve had an A- all year. For me, it’s simply not my strong suit. But, in all fairness, it isn’t John’s either. My mom usually has to help us after school. My writing scrawls across the pages of my notebook as I copy the notes from the board. John says my writing is very neat and cutesy, but it’s just cursive. I sigh softly and stare blankly at the board. I write faster than she can speak. It seems to be an attribute I kept from my past life - or, I’m assuming so. Finally, pages from our textbooks are assigned as homework, and we get started. The room is quiet, other than the scratching of pencils, crinkling of paper, and occasional squeaky chair. I have two pieces of paper out. One for homework, and one for communicating with John, who’s sitting next to me. I scribble my note to him and tap my pencil lightly against my desk twice. 

_ I’m so bored _

He looks over and reads what I’ve written, smiling slightly. He writes on his second paper as well.

_ Maybe do the assignment then _

I roll my eyes at him and shoot back my response.

_ I suck at math and _ _ I  _ _ could finish this in fifteen minutes _

He smirks slightly and starts writing again. Before he finishes, I notice whispers from in front of us. I’m about 90% sure they’re gossiping about John. They do this a lot, and I know it bothers him. It pisses me off. We can always tell they’re talking about him, but can’t tell what they’re saying. I’m nudged with the eraser of a pencil, and I look back at John. He motions to his paper.

_ Leave it. They aren’t worth it _

I purse my lips in a thin line, giving him a concerned look. He just shakes his head. A few minutes later, I see him jump slightly from the corner of my eye. I look over. One of the football douches, Liam, has a very sharp pencil, and he’s poking the back of John’s neck, which is exposed from him having it in a ponytail. Another football douche, Carter, is smirking as he watches his friend irritate John. 

“Could you stop?” John growls quietly. Both other boys chuckle tauntingly. 

“What are  _ you _ going to do about it?” Carter chortles. The two haven’t noticed me watching the exchange - I don’t think John has either - and continue to poke John with the pencil. When Liam pulls it away from John’s neck slightly, I make my move. I snatch the pencil from his hand and snap it in half.

“He asked you to stop,” I hiss, sending a death glare at him. Liam gives me a look. No one ever understands why I hang out with John, but still treat  _ me  _ the same...Not counting the Isaac incident in eighth grade. I put the broken pencil on Carter’s desk and turn back around, glancing at John. He gives me a grateful half smile, and I return it. Less than five minutes later, John yelps, attracting the attention of the entire room. I look up, seeing John on his feet and glaring down at Liam. 

“What the hell?! You pulled my hair! What are we, five?” he cries. Liam just smirks at him, knowing very well that John can’t do anything about it without getting in trouble. Not here, at least.

“You don’t have any proof,” he says smugly. I lay another sharp glare on him, but he seems unphased. Or maybe he just doesn’t notice. 

“Mr. Laurens, sit down. Mr. Jacobs, don’t taunt him,” our teacher says firmly. I put a hand on John’s arm and shake my head slightly. He sighs and turns back around, sitting in his seat. For the rest of the class, which is only about ten minutes, I glare over my shoulder at Liam, daring him to do something else to John. He doesn’t. Finally, the bell rings and we pack up and leave the classroom. 

“I’ve gotta stop at my locker, you wanna come with?” I ask, looping my arm around his. He smiles slightly and nods, so we hurry to the sophomore hallway. I rummage around to get my Chemistry textbook and leave my English and Algebra textbooks in my locker. 

“Hey, Laurens!” We both turn at the sound of the voice, and my lips curl in disgust. Here come Liam and Carter. I close my locker and loop my arm through John’s again, tugging him in the other direction.   
“Let’s go before they start something,” I mutter. Before we can go far, there’s another guy in front of us. Oh, even better, it’s Cameron. The guy who has a major crush on me but is a huge dick about it. I stop, my arm tightening around John’s. 

“Bojor, Anastasia,” Cameron says, butchering one of the simplest French words there is. I stand up a little straighter, even though I’m still only as tall as the bottom of his chin. 

“Cela semble mauvais  **(This looks bad)** ,” I mutter, looking around. There are other students in the hall still, but everyone is heading to class. This looks like a fight waiting to happen. 

“Just leave us alone, Liam,” John snaps, keeping me close to him. He knows he doesn’t have to protect me, but I know he likes to. Liam chuckles maliciously. 

“Come on, princess,” he taunts, “you were just itching to fight me in the classroom. Here I am.” John tries to take an aggressive step toward him, but I hold on tight to his arm and hold him back. He looks down at me.

“ _ Non _ , they are not worth it,” I hiss. Liam chuckles again.

“That’s right. Your  _ master _ is calling.” And that word...Master. It triggers something inside me, evoking pure, unbridled rage. I jump off John’s arm and lung at Liam. Everyone is so shocked that there isn’t even an attempt to stop me as I punch him square in the nose. He stumbles backwards, hands over his nose. 

“ _Va te faire foutre!_ **(Fuck you!)** Don’t you _ever_ say that to him again!” I yell, French accent prominent as I point a finger at him. Carter takes a step toward me, but John pulls me back to him and holds onto me.

“Ms. Reama! Office,  _ now _ !” a teacher yells. It’s Mr. Hilt. Of course it is. The one teacher that doesn’t like me. John pulls me in the direction of the office, and the bell rings. I don’t care. When we reach an empty hallway, John stops and turns to face me.

“Ana, what the hell was that?” he exclaims. I blink a few times, trying to remember what happened. 

“He called me your master and I felt this... _ sauvage _ rage,” I say. He raises a confused eyebrow, and I clear my throat.

“Wild. Wild rage,” I translate. He gives me a concerned look, and I purse my lips. 

“Do you think it has something to do with a past life you had? Maybe you were a slave or an abolitionist in a past life?” he asks. I nod slowly. It makes sense, at least to me. Then he’s hugging me, and I don’t pay attention to my thoughts. I hug back, wincing as I flex my hand. He pulls back and holds out his hand. I hesitantly put the bruising one in his. He looks over my knuckles for a moment, before lifting them up and placing a few soft kisses on them, something I tend to do when  _ he _ has bruised knuckles. 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before. I think you’ll live,” he says, grinning at me. I smile back at him, tilting my head. 

“Oh super. J'étais si inquiet  **(Oh good. I was so worried)** ,” I say sarcastically. He chuckles, then starts pulling me along.

“Come on, rebel. You still have to go to the office,” he says. I sigh. 

“The things I do for you, John Laurens,” I say. He puts an arm around me and smiles.

“And I’m grateful for every single one.”


	5. Chapter 4: Getting John a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A CHALLENGER APPROACHES 
> 
> ...Or perhaps, a lover?

**Sophomore Year Still:**

Considering it’s a week until February, it’s actually not too cold out. The snow on the ground would beg to differ, but John and I don’t listen. Instead of staying inside, we’re bundled up and taking a walk in our favorite park. I nuzzle my nose further into the scarf that my grandmother in France made for me. John chuckles and nudges my shoulder with his. 

“So, Valentine’s Day is coming up. You have anyone in mind?” he asks, grinning slyly at me. I giggle and roll my eyes.

“This is where we are in our friendship? Gossiping about the boys we like?” I ask, eyes crinkling slightly to show my smile. He laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“Of course we are! You tell me everything and I tell you everything. That includes the boy gossip!” he says. I shake my head fondly and lean against him.

“Well, if you  _ must _ know. Non, no boys I’m interested in,” I respond. He hums and gives me a sideways glance.

“What about you?” I ask, nudging his side with my elbow. He groans.

“Do you even need to ask? All the guys at our school are straight as boards and a majority of them are douchebags,” he says. I giggle at that, and he joins me after a moment. There’s a short silence before we both get bored of it.   
“Wanna race to our favorite spot?” he asks. I give him a challenging look and pull my face out of my scarf to smirk at him.

“Préparez-vous à perdre  **(Prepare to lose)** ,” I say. He grins at me, and we stop, getting in position.

“On three,” he says, “un deux...Trois!” We both take off running, but he’s faster than me. I, however, am more agile, and I dodge around people much easier than he does. For a while, it’s very close, but he quickly gets further ahead. He looks over his shoulder at me and laughs.

“John, look-” Before I can finish, he collides with another boy, and they both tumble to the ground.

“John!” I cry, catching up to him finally. He and the other boy groan, John lying on top of him. The boy is a lot bigger than John, and I’m shocked he actually had the momentum to knock him over. 

“John? Chérie? Are you ok?” I ask, poking his arm. He groans and lifts his head from the other boy’s chest. His eyes slowly open, and his cheeks light up in a bright red blush. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” he squeaks. The other boy opens his eyes, and his own carmel cheeks darken.  _ Oh _ . I smirk slightly. 

“Here, let me help you both up,” I say, standing up. I offer my hand down to them, and John gratefully takes it. I yank him up, then offer the same hand to the tall boy. He smiles at me, and I smile back. 

“Pardon me for asking, but are you French?” he asks me as he’s brushing his pants off. I nod.

“Oui. Je suis Anastasia  **(I’m Anastasia)** ,” I say, keeping my hand out for him to shake. He shakes it and his smile remains warm. He’s much taller than John and I. Probably over six feet. 

“I’m Francis,” he says. There’s a short, slightly awkward silence. I kick John in the leg in an attempt to make him speak.

“Ow! Ana!” he whines. I turn and grin at him, and Francis turns his attention on him too. John immediately blushes again.

“O-Oh. Right. I’m, um. I’m John,” he says, smiling shyly and sticking out his hand. I’ve never seen him this flustered before. It’s so cute! Francis shakes his hand, smiling bashfully back at him. Oh, I am  _ so _ meddling with this if Francis is gay and single. I clear my throat, bringing Francis’ attention back to me.

“So, as an apology, I’d like to invite you to join us to get some hot chocolate,” I say, using my sweetest smile. He looks between me and John. 

“Oh, I...I wouldn’t want to intrude or anything,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. I wave a dismissive hand.

“Oh, nonsense! Come on, I know a really good stand,” I say, taking him by the arm and pulling him along. 

“Come on, mon amie! Hot chocolate awaits!” I call over my shoulder at John. A few seconds later, he’s running after me, and he falls in step on my other side. I loop my other arm around his and giggle.

“So, you look around our age. Where do you go to school, Francis?” I ask, deciding to make idle chatter myself since the other two were being far too awkward. Francis brightens right up at that.

“Oh, I go to Eton High School. I’m a senior. What about you guys?” he asks. I tug on John’s arm and he clears his throat.

“We, uh...We’re both sophomores at Charleston,” he says. Oh, he’s never living this down. Francis wrinkles his nose slightly.

“No offense, but it seems like Charleston is full of racists and homophobes,” he says. I sigh and nod.

“Unfortunetly, yes. They were not very accepting of me when I first moved there, and John is still bullied for being-” I cut myself off. That’s a bit of oversharing. He doesn’t seem disgusted by the idea of homosexuality, but that’s John’s secret to tell. I tighten my grip on John’s arm.

“ _ Merde _ . Je suis désolé  **(Shit. I’m sorry)** , John,” I say, bowing my head. John swallows. 

“You don’t have to say anything, but you should know, I’m actually...So, if that’s why you’re quiet, you don’t have to be worried. I have no right to judge in the first place,” Francis says. I look over at John, who looks upset. I feel bad. 

“Est-ce que ça va?  **(Are you okay?)** ” I ask softly. He takes a deep breath and nods, smiling slightly at me. He looks up at Francis.

“Sorry. We’re both just so used to having to guard ourselves over it. It’s been a long time since we found anyone accepting of it, let alone being like me,” he says timidly. Francis offers him a soft smile and a nod. The rest of the walk is in surprisingly companionable silence. I see the man at the cart, with his wife sitting in a chair beside it. She’s bundled in the blanket that John and I gave her, and it makes me smile.

“Mme et monsieur  **(Mrs and mister)** !” I call joyfully, disconnecting myself from both boys and skipping ahead. The woman looks up from the cup of hot chocolate in her hands, and she smiles. They’re both on the older side, and think that John and I are dating, but they’re very nice people. 

“Miss Anastasia!” the man calls, smiling at me. I lift a hand in a wave as I approach the stand, already pulling out my wallet. 

“Where’s that nice, young boyfriend of yours?” the woman asks. 

“Boyfriend?” Francis whispers.

“Just go with it,” John whispers back. They’re lucky these nice old people have bad hearing. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Billow! How are you?” John asks in a normal tone, coming to stand beside me. He and Mrs. Billow converse while I buy three cups of hot chocolate for Francis, John and me. 

“Have a nice day!” Mrs. Billow says, waving to us. We wave back, before heading off to find a place to sit. There’s a picnic table that we find and clear the melting snow off.

“So, they seem nice, but why do you pretend to be dating in front of them?” Francis asks from the opposite side of the picnic table. I swallow my sip of the warm liquid and lick my lips.

“I guess it just sort of happened because we showed up together so much. They made the assumption that we were a couple and we were honestly too lazy to correct them. It’s not like we don’t act coupley. We definitely do. John just...Isn’t straight,” I say. John smacks my arm and I giggle, taking another sip. Francis watches the two of us with a soft smile on his face, before pointing at my neck.

“I really like your scarf. Did you make it?” he asks. I grin.

“Non, ma grand-mère did,” I say. Francis raises an eyebrow and glances at John, who laughs.

“Her grandmother did. Specifically her French grandmother,” he clarifies. Francis nods in understanding. His attention remains on John.

“So did she teach you French, or do you just sort of understand what she’s saying now?” he asks. John smiles around the lip of his cup, and I lean on the table to look at him.

“Well,” he begins, putting his cup on the table, “we met in sixth grade, and I could figure out what ‘oui’ and ‘non’ meant. Over the years, she’s taught me more words. Maybe not all of them were on purpose-”

“The swears were,” I put in. He chuckles and elbows me.

“Yes, she taught me all the French swear words. And the endearing nicknames, which she uses a lot. I still struggle to understand her sometimes, but generally, yeah, she’s taught me how to speak the basics. We can hold a conversation in French,” he says. Francis nods along the whole time, grin never diminishing. He really does seem like a sweet guy, and he’s only two years older than us. I kind of hope he’ll ask John out. Or maybe John asks him out, but he’s a bit shy so I somehow doubt that will happen.

“You guys must talk in French in class. I bet that annoys the hell out of teachers,” Francis says. I laugh and nod.

“They  _ hate _ it with a burning passion, but usually it is during times where we’re allowed to talk so they can’t get us in trouble. They can’t even ask me to translate because they know I can, and will, lie if I want to,” I say. Francis laughs. Suddenly, a thought strikes me.

“John, what time is it?” I ask, looking over at him. He raises a confused eyebrow.

“Uh...Showtime?” he asks. I snort and cover my mouth with my hand to hide my giggling. I wave my hand at him.

“No, espèce d'idiot stupide  **(you stupid idiot)** , I want the  _ actual _ time,” I say, still shaking with unheard laughter. He blushes slightly, but moves his coat sleeve to check his watch. His eyes widen.

“Uh, we have about ten minutes to get to yours before your mom gets home and we get our asses kicked,” he says. My eyes widen too. That’s what I was afraid of.

“So, it was really, very nice to meet you, Francis, but we have to go,” I say, already getting up from the bench. John follows suit, and I’m already over on the sidewalk. 

“Oh, um! Hold on!” Francis says, getting up too. He runs around the table and stops in front of John. He rubs the back of his neck nervously, before taking a deep breath.

“Would you...Be willing to go out with me?” he asks. John’s face erupts in a blush, and I giggle.

“Say yes, you tortue maladroite  **(awkward turtle)** !” I cry. John peers around Francis to glare and me, and I giggle into my hand. John shifts a bit awkwardly, but finally, he nods.

“I’d like that,” he says shyly. I bounce up and down, watching as Francis takes out a pen.

“This is my house’s number. We can schedule something,” he says, writing something on John’s hand. 

“Bye, Francis!” I call. John waves to the other boy and runs over to me, giddy. I high five him, before we both run off. We have to get home  _ now _ . But I can’t wait to see where the relationship between Francis and John goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently it doesn't snow very much in South Carolina. I didn't know that until way after writing this chapter. Basically, HA THIS CHAPTER IS INACCURATE AS FUCK. 
> 
> (All the school names are made up)  
> Link to the Francis Kinloch design I’m using: https://aminoapps.com/c/hamilton/page/blog/francis-kinloch-ref/lL4r_gYUQuD3mKZ3r2xMXQEdZR33k0LqR6


	6. Chapter 5: A Sixteen Year Age Difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shocking revelation shakes Anastasia's life.

**Sophomore Year (Two months later):**

“You’re  _ what _ ?!” I exclaim, gawking at my mother. She holds her hand over her stomach, smiling almost nervously at me.

“Anastasia, ma douce petite fille  **(my sweet little girl)** ...I’m pregnant again,” she repeats. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My mother is  _ pregnant _ ? 

“Mère  **(mother)** ...I’m going to be sixteen when this baby is born. I don’t understand why...Father didn’t want  _ me _ in the first place. What is he going to say about this one? How long have you known?” I ask, taking one of her hands. She squeezes my hand and rubs her thumb across my hand. 

“Three months,” she says. I jerk back away from her, eyes wide.

“Trois mois?! Pourquoi m'as-tu gardé ça si longtemps?  **(Three months?! Why did you keep this from me for so long?)** ” I exclaim, my French accent more prominent than ever. She sighs and sits on the bed, waving me over. I take a deep breath and sit next to her. Yelling at my mother will solve nothing. She holds my hands between hers, squeezing my fingers. 

“Your father does not know. I wanted to tell you first,” she says. My frown deepens, but I squeeze her hands back. 

“What are we going to do? How are you going to tell father?” I ask, concerned. My father didn't want to have  _ me _ in the first place. I’m worried how he’ll react to another child. My mother pats my knee.

“Don’t worry about that, dear. Everything will be just fine,” she says. She gets up and leaves my room. Somehow, I don’t quite believe her.

There’s crashing noises from downstairs, as well as some yelling. This is far more common than it should be, but I’m used to it. This is just how my parents are. My father will likely leave for a couple hours after the argument, but he’s usually back by the time I wake up in the morning. I try covering my head with a pillow, but the kitchen is just below my bedroom, so it doesn’t help. I finally decide to get up. I need to get out of here for a while. I find some paper and scribble a note down on it. 

_ Maman,  _ **_(Mom)_ **

_ Had to get away from the yelling. Gone to John’s. _

_ Love, Ana _

I leave the note on my bed before I get dressed and pull on a jacket, opening my bedroom door. The yelling is louder, but I’m still quiet as I creep down the stairs. I take a key for the front door and stick it in my pocket before slipping out silently. It’s still chilly out, despite being late spring. I suppress a shiver and start running to warm myself up. It only takes about five minutes to drive to John’s house, but walking/running will take much longer. I have a long walk ahead of me. Probably an hour. But I’ll do anything to get away from the yelling tonight. 

An hour or so later, I stop at the Laurens’ door. It’s late at night, I’m really not sure if anyone will be up. I see a candle flickering in a window, however, and decide to knock. A minute passes and I knock a little louder. A few seconds later, the door opens. 

“Anastasia!” John’s mother greets, sounding tired but no less happy to see me. I smile at her.

“Good evening, Eleanor,” I say. She beckons me inside out of the chilly air, closing the door behind me.   
“What are you doing out here so late, dear?” she asks, concerned. I frown and look at my boots.

“My parents were arguing again and I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to talk to John, if that would be ok,” I say. She smiles softly at me and nods, before turning and going back into the sitting room. I know exactly where John’s room is, and climb the stairs as quietly as I can. If Henry Laurens is asleep, I certainly don’t be the one to wake him up. God, I hate that enfoiré  **(fucker)** . I quietly knock on John’s door when I reach it. I doubt he’ll be awake, but I don’t want to barge in on him. There’s no response. I knock a little louder, and still nothing. I slowly open the door, peering in. He’s sleeping. I creep inside and close the door behind me, slowly making my way over to his bed.

“John,” I whisper, shaking his shoulder slightly. He stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake up. I sit down on his bed and shake his side a little harder.

“John, wake up,” I whisper a little louder. He stirs again and grunts, rolling over. Or, he tries to. He runs into my side and jolts awake. His wide, tired eyes land on me, and he relaxes.

“Jesus, Ana,” he sighs, running his hands down his face. I bite my lip and look away from him. His bed creaks after a moment, and he wraps his arms around me.

“What’s the matter?” he asks softly. I kick my boots off and lean into him, closing my eyes.

“My parents were fighting again, and I couldn’t sleep. Probably because of the bombshell my mom decided to drop on me today,” I sigh. He moves his arms and I shift my position to lean against his side.

“What did she…?” he asks, playing with the ends of my hair. I put my head on his shoulder and stare across the room at his wall.

“She’s three months pregnant,” I say. John pulls back to look at me. I look at my lap.

“She’s  _ what _ ?” he asks, clearly shocked. I laugh dryly.

“That’s what I said. I’m guessing the fight came from her telling him,” I say. He sighs and wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me to him. 

“I’m sorry, Ana,” he mutters. I smile slightly and shrug.

“I guess I have always wanted a petit frère  **(little sibling)** ,” I say. He chuckles a little.

“You have fun with that. I personally wouldn’t recommend it. 3/10, would not deal with again,” he says. I giggle softly, before we both go quiet. It’s a comfortable silence, as it usually is with us. I can’t remember a time when we weren’t comfortable with each other. After a minute, he moves, propping up his pillows and moving his blankets so that I can nestle underneath them. I gratefully do so, and he puts an arm around me before laying down again. I lay my head on his chest, feeling safe and warm here. 

“You want to keep talking?” he asks. I smile softly.

“I’ll listen,” I say. He chuckles and hums for a moment. Finally, he grins a wide, goofy grin.

“Francis and I went out again yesterday. It was really fun,” he says. I giggle slightly, enjoying his lovestruck aura. 

“Have you kissed yet, or do you still have half the blood in your body go to your face when he holds your hand?” I tease. He sputters and I giggle again. 

“You really like him, don’t you?” I ask softly. He sighs and nods.

“Yeah, I really do,” he says. I smile, before yawning a little. He chuckles a little, tucking some hair behind my ear. I close my eyes.

“Keep talking, I’m just resting my eyes,” I say. He kisses my forehead and hums.

“I can’t wait to get out of this state,” he says. I smile and nod slightly. 

“Moi aussi mon amour  **(Me too, my love)** ,” I mutter. His chest shakes in a silent chuckle.

“You and I are going to move somewhere. I don’t care where, but we’re going to get a place in some state that isn’t South Carolina-”

“Or Missouri,” I add in a mutter. Another laugh.

“Yeah, or Missouri. Somewhere where I can openly love and date whoever I want, and you can pursue your dreams without your dad breathing down your neck,” he says. I hum lazily, feeling tired. It’s the comfort of being with John. He’s my best friend. I trust him with everything, and more than anyone else. Even my parents. I want to tell him that.

“John?” I slur slightly. He squeezes my hand, which is lying across his stomach. 

“Yeah?” he responds quietly. I open my eyes partially to look up at him.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” I ask. He smiles down at me and squeezes me firmly. 

“Je t’amie aussi  **(I love you too)** ,” he says softly. I smile and close my eyes again. He mutters about nonsense until I fall asleep.

I groan, feeling my body being shaken. I don’t want to wake up yet. 

“Noooo,” I whine, trying to move away. I’m restrained by a strap across my body. Oh, that’s a seatbelt. I’m in a vehicle. I open my eyes halfway and look around. 

“Good morning, sleepy head,” John says as I look over at him. My eyebrows wrinkle together in confusion. 

“Wha?” I ask, patting my cheeks lightly to try and wake upself up. He laughs slightly, patting my leg with one hand as he drives.

“It’s about five thirty in the morning. I thought I’d bring you home before we had to go to school today, so you could change and shower or whatever,” he says. I rub the sleep from my eyes and look around at the dark streets. 

“Kinda glad you weren’t awake when we left. It was humiliating,” he says absently, watching the road. I raise an eyebrow.   
“What happened?” I ask. He glances at me and I tilt my head. 

“Well, it was fine at first. My mom came and woke me up at five and told me to bring you home. I got dressed and put your boots back on you, but then I had to carry you out. My dad was downstairs having his coffee, and he gave me this look before he said, ‘I certainly hope you used protection, son.’ And I couldn’t say anything to defend myself so I just ran,” he says. I giggle, and I can assume he’s blushing in the darkness. I lean against his arm, staring ahead at the road. We ride in silence until he pulls up to my house. It’s dark inside, and my father’s truck is gone from the driveway. I sit up and stare at the house for a long minute, before sighing.

“I’ll see you in a couple hours, oui?” I say, looking over at him. He nods and opens his arms for me. I smile slightly and unbuckle my seatbelt, leaning over to hug him.

“Je t’amie, John,” I say softly. He rubs up and down my back.

“Je t’amie aussi, Anastasia,” he responds. I give a final tight squeeze, and he plants a kiss against my temple, before we part. I open the car door and step out, slowly closing the door and stepping onto my driveway. I wave to him as he drives away, before looking back toward my house. I exhale and walk toward the front door, taking out my key. The door squeaks slightly as I open it, and I slip inside and lock the door behind me, putting the key back in its place. The house is quiet, which is odd considering my mother is usually up by now. I creep up the stairs, stopping by my room to put away my coat and boots, before quietly walking to my parents’ room. The door is cracked open, and I slowly open it a little further. My mother is curled up in the bed alone. I frown deeply and shuffle over, climbing on the bed slowly. She rolls over, eyes red and puffy as if she’s been crying. I don’t say anything, only lay down and hug her. She wraps her arms around me, and we just hold each other. She and father have always had disagreements, but I have this horrible feeling that things will get worse from here. I’m worried about my mother and my unborn sibling. I’ll do my best to protect them. I promise myself that.

  
  


Junior Year (Five months later):

I stare with boredom at the board of my Biology class, listening to the teacher drone on and on about...Something. What are we even learning about? Suddenly, the door bursts open, and one of our friendly secretaries is standing there. She draws the attention of the entire class, and our teacher, but she’s only looking at me.

“Ms. Reama, your mother’s gone into labor,” she says through her panting. My eyes widen and I shoot up. 

“She’s...Okay, okay. I’m assuming I have permission to leave?” I ask Mr. Hinman, already packing up my things. 

“Yes, of course, Ms. Reama. Go,” he says. I glance down at John as I zip up my bag.

“Can you get my work for the rest of the-”   
“ _ Yes _ . Now go!” he cries. I grin and lean down, kissing his cheek and moving quickly toward the door. Before I leave, I turn and face the room.

“If I come back and find out somebody started a fight with him, I will hurt you,” I threaten, adjusting my bag on my shoulders. I don’t wait for a response, turning and following the secretary out of the classroom. I sign myself out in the office before running out to my car and rushing to the hospital. Sure, I break a few speed limit laws, but I need to get to my mother. God knows my father probably isn’t rushing over there any time soon. I pull into the parking lot and park my car, rushing through the hospital doors. The woman at the front desk looks up from her computer, and I stop in front of the desk.

“How may I help you, miss?” she asks politely. I take a few deep breaths to refill my lungs, before gripping the edge of the desk.

“I’m looking for my mother. Charlotte Reama. She was brought in probably half an hour ago, going into labor,” I say. She types something on her computer before looking up at me. 

“Yes, we have someone here under that name. She’s in room 246. Let me just have you sign in and then I’ll have someone bring you to her,” she says, placing a clipboard up on the counter in front of me. I nod and take a pen, signing my name in the visitor’s section. A nurse is waved over, and she escorts me to my mother’s room. She’s lying there in her hospital gown, breathing steadily. 

“Merci beaucoup  **(Thank you so much)** ,” I tell the nurse. She nods and walks off before I turn and look back at my mother, who has now opened her eyes and is looking at me.

“Mon chéri. Que fais-tu ici?  **(My darling. What are you doing here?)** ” she asks. I laugh a little and pull a chair over to her bed, sitting in it and holding her hand.

“Pensiez-vous que je manquerais la naissance de ma petite sœur?  **(Did you think I would miss the birth of my little sister?)** ” I ask, squeezing her fingers. She smiles at me, squeezing my hand. I’ve been worrying about her for months, but I’m excited to have a new little sister. John’s siblings seem nice, and I want something like what they have. 

“I don’t know if your father will be coming. They tried to get in contact with him, but he didn’t answer,” she says, her smile dropping. I frown as well, giving her hand another squeeze. 

“Do you want me to stay with you when she’s born?” I ask, leaning on her bed. She smiles again and nods. 

“That would be nice, thank you, chérie  **(darling)** ,” she says. I nod and smile back.

“Of course, mama.”

I’m pulled from my book as my mother gasps. I immediately get up and put the book aside, grabbing her hand.

“It’s coming. The baby’s coming,” she gasps, French accent strong. My eyes widen and I run to the door. 

“Nurse! Nurse, the baby is coming! Get the doctor, please!” I cry down the hall. Several nurses at the nurse’s station look up, and the one assigned to my mother runs off, hopefully to find the doctor. I run back to my mother, grasping her hand.

“Breathe, mama. Squeeze my hand and  _ breathe _ ,” I say calmly. She nods and takes several gulps of air, squeezing her eyes closed. I hold onto her hand tightly, and hear footsteps coming down the hall.

“Ok, Mrs. Reama. Can you tell me how far apart the contractions are?” her doctor asks, walking into the room. She’s panting, squeezing her death grip on my hand. I have a feeling it’s going to bruise, but I don’t move.

“A-about- ahh - fourty five seconds,” she says. I push her hair away from her forehead, hoping to sooth her.

“Ms. Reama, you should probably step outside-”

“No, no. My husband isn’t going to be here in time. I want my daughter to be here,” my mother says through her panting. The doctor nods.

“Then let’s go, and we can prep her for delivery,” he says. I nod, following as the bed is rolled out of the room. There’s a new room, and the doctor leaves to put on proper scrubs. I stroke my mother’s hand, and she smiles up at me. 

“Your little sister will be here soon. I don’t even know what we’re going to name her,” she says. I smile at her.

“On devrait la nommer  **(We should name her)** Nicolette,” I say. She smiles wider.

“That’s a beautiful name, mon chéri. I love it,” she says. She gasps again and squeezes my hand just as the doctor returns. He gets into position, and I wrap an arm around my mother and continue to hold her hand.

“Alright, Mrs. Reama. On the count of three, I need you to push.” My mother nods, squeezing my hand tightly. “One, two, three, push!”

(Can you tell I have no idea how giving birth works?)

Watching my mother hold my infant sister brings tears to my eyes. I have a little sister. My mother looks up at me.

“Would you like to hold her, sweetheart?” she asks. I draw closer and nod, holding out my arms. She shows me how to hold a baby, and I pull Nicolette to my chest. My eyes are teary as I smile down at her. My little sister. 

“Salut  **(Hi there)** , Nicolette,” I say softly. Footsteps come running down the hall, and I look up, dreading to see my father. Instead, however, John appears in the doorway. 

“John, dear,” my mother says, opening one of her arms. He walks over to her bed and hugs her, kissing her cheek. 

“It’s good to see you, Anastasia,” he says, before looking up at me. He sees the baby in my arms and his face morphs into one of pure adoration and love.

“She’s beautiful,” he says, walking over to stand by me. I look down at her and smile, leaning against John’s shoulder.

“John...Meet Nicolette Arina Reama,” I say, smiling. John puts an arm around me, smiling at her too.

“Hey there, Nicolette. I’m John,” he says, sounding on the verge of tears himself. Oh, I can’t wait to see him with his children. He’s going to be an amazing father. 

“Charlotte!” John and I jump at the sound of my father’s voice, and I look to see him in the door. John instinctively steps in front of me slightly, and I hold Nicolette closer to me. My mother looks up at my father, smiling weakly at him.

“Hello, dear. I’m glad you could make it,” she says sweetly. He walks over to my mother and kisses her forehead, before looking up at me, John, and Nicolette.

“What is it?” he asks roughly. He sounds a bit drunk. I swallow.

“This is Nicolette, father. Your new daughter,” I say steadily. He laughs dryly. 

“Another daughter,” he mutters under his breath. He looks at John, and glares slightly.   
“What are you doing here, boy?” he asks. John’s fists clench and I brush his shoulder with mine in an attempt to calm him down. Getting in a fight with my father will get us nowhere. My father already doesn’t like John. 

“I brought Ana’s work from school, sir, and wanted to meet her new baby sister,” he says, trying to sound at least halfway civil. My father looks him up and down with disdain, before looking back at me.

“Get out. I need to talk to your mother,” he orders. I nod, and look at my mother.

“Take Nicolette with you, mon chéri  **(honey)** ,” she says. John puts an arm around my shoulders and we leave, shutting the door. He guides me down the hall, away from my mother’s room, and we sit in some chairs. 

“I know he’s your dad...But I hate that man,” John says harshly, keeping an arm around me. I stare down at Nicolette, lips pressed into a thin line.

“I don’t blame you. I struggle not to hate him every day. He clearly doesn’t love me. He didn’t want me. I was an accident, and I can only assume doux petit  **(sweet little)** Nicolette was too,” I say softly, leaning against him. He kisses my head, and I close my eyes. Just being around my father when he’s like that emotionally exhausts me. Trying to think of a pleasant memory of him is hard. It’s not that they don’t exist, it’s simply that they’re extremely rare. It’s saddening. It’s something else John and I have in common. We have - for a lack of a better term - “daddy issues.” 

“Uh oh,” John mutters suddenly. I lift my head and shoot him a confused look, but he’s looking down the hall. A nurse is headed for my mother’s room door. Before he can yell a warning to her, she opens the door.

“-did not even want children, and now we have two useless daughters who will only drain us of our money so that they can buy stupid clothes and jewelry!” my father is yelling. I hold tighter to Nicolette.

“Oh, that’s all you care about, isn’t it? The money! 95% of that money is  _ mine _ , Nathan! My blood can do whatever they damn well please with it. Now get out! You’re drunk and I don’t want you anywhere near either of our daughters for the foreseeable future!” my mother screams back. 

“Fine! I don’t care about that fucking baby or that redhead whore anyway!” As my father exits the room, he pushes the nurse aside and knocks her over. John and I both stand up, the former rushing to the nurse and helping her stand up. 

“I’m so sorry about my father, miss,” I say apologetically, walking up to them both. She turns to look at me and nods.

“I’m sorry you have a father like that, darlin,” she says. I smile slightly and nod, before John and I both follow her into the room. 

“Are you alright, Mrs. Reama?” her nurse asks. My mother is a strong woman. Most arguments between her and my father don’t phase her. However, right now, she’s struggling to hold back tears. Fairly so, as she gave birth not even two hours ago. I look at John. 

“Would you…?” I hold out Nicolette to him. He nods and carefully takes her, before I cross the room and climb onto the hospital bed with my mother, hugging her tightly. 

“Ça va aller, maman. Ca va aller  **(It’s going to be okay, mama. Everything will be okay)** ,” I mutter. She sniffles and nods. John slowly makes his way over with Nicolette and sits on the opposite side of the bed. 

“I’ll give y’all a moment,” the nurse says softly. We don’t look at her, but I nod. John carefully shifts Nicolette so that he can hold one of my mother’s hands.

“I know I’m not part of the family, but I’m going to be here for you too, Anastasia. Whatever you need,” he says kindly. She looks up at him with teary eyes and smiles.

“Thank you, John, but that’s nonsense.” He gives her a confused expression. “Of course you are part of the family, darling.” He smiles at her and looks up at me for a moment. I smile back and the three (technically four) of us all stay on the hospital bed. A mismatched family, but a family nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.   
> That happened.


	7. Chapter 6: Trust Instincts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis is growing distant from John, and Ana wants to know why. She confronts him.

**Junior Year (Literally two weeks later):**

“-and he just kinda blew me off. I dunno. He’s been really distant lately,” John rants, watching me bottle feed Nicolette. I hum, looking up at him. He looks a bit distressed, and I give him a sympathetic smile.

“I’m sure everything is fine, John. He’s going to university soon, you know? And in London no less. It must be stressing him out,” I say, trying to reassure him. He looks up at my face and bites his lip, before smiling a little and nodding. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says. The truth is, I have a bad feeling. Like I previously stated, Francis is going to university in less than a week. In London. I have this sinking feeling in my stomach that he’s going to end things with John before he goes. Do I think it’s for the best? Maybe. I can’t imagine how hard a relationship from that distance would be. It would be easier than it used to be, but still difficult. They’d go long periods without seeing each other, which would be hard on both of them. I look back at Nicolette, silently deciding what to do. I need to talk to Francis. 

“ _ John? _ ” Francis asks from the other side of the phone. I sigh.

“Non, Francis. It’s Anastasia,” I correct. He mutters something I can’t hear before he speaks again.

“ _ Oh, bonjour, Anastasia. How are you? _ ” he asks. I glance over my shoulder at my mother, who’s holding Nicolette at the dinner table while she reads a book.

“I’m well, and you?”

“ _ Quite well, thank you. Did you need to talk to me about something specific, or is this just a social call? _ ”

“I actually have something I need to discuss with you, but it wouldn’t feel appropriate over the phone. Would you be able to meet me at the park?”

“ _ I should be able to...I can take a break in about fifteen minutes. Meet there in thirty minutes? _ ” he asks. My mother looks up at me.

“Can I go out in thirty minutes, maman  **(mama)** ?” I ask. She smiles slightly and nods.

“Just be back by 6:30 for dinner,” she says. I smile back at her and nod, before returning my focus to Francis.

“Yeah, Francis, that works. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”

“ _ See you in thirty minutes. _ ”

It’s still fairly warm, being early September, and I wait at the same picnic table that we first talked at all those months ago. I look up as he walks over, raising my hand in a small wave and flashing him a small smile. He waves and smiles back, sitting down opposite me. I bite my lower lip, smile dropping. 

“So…I don’t know how much time you have, but this is really important to me,” I say. His look turns serious, and he nods. I stare at my hands on the table for a moment, before looking up at him.

“You’re going to college at the end of this week. All the way in London. I’m...Worried about yours and John’s relationship,” I say slowly. He frowns and looks down at my hands. I slowly reach across the table, and he gives me his hand before meeting my eyes again.

“You’re going to break up with him, aren’t you?” I ask softly. He bites his lip and looks away again, nodding. My heart breaks, but I was expecting it. I rub the top of his hand with my thumb, and he looks up at me with tears in his eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt him. I really,  _ really _ like him. If I wasn’t moving away, I think I could fall in love with him. Anastasia, I have no idea what to do,” he says. I squeeze his hand and get up, moving around the table to sit next to him and wrap my arms around him.

“It’s going to be alright, Francis. I know it will hurt you both, but it’ll be okay. Both of you will be okay, with time,” I mutter softly. He nods and I release him, taking both of his hands. He looks at me, eyes a little red and puffy from crying.

“Just be gentle with him, oui? He’ll understand, and I’ll do my best to comfort him when you leave. Just don’t wait until the last minute. That would be cruel,” I say. He nods slowly, and decides to get it done tomorrow. 

I stare at my homework, though it’s not really my focus. I glance at the clock, then out the window. John told me he was meeting Francis at the park at 4:00. It’s almost 4:30. I tap the end of my pencil against the table, wondering what’s going on. Then a car pulls up to the front of the house and parks in the driveway. I get up from my chair and go to the front door, opening it. John collides with me, wrapping his arms around my torso and burying his face into my shoulder. I look over his hunched form as I wrap my arms around him. Francis looks like he’s been crying too. I cast him a soft look.

“I’ll come see you off on Saturday morning, alright?” I say softly. He nods and walks away before he can break down in front of John and me. I pull John inside and kick the door closed, leading him upstairs to my room. We lay down on my bed, and I just hold him. He doesn’t speak, and I don’t force him to. My fingers run soothingly through his curls, and I kiss the top of his head. A couple months ago, I might’ve had the worry of my father coming home and seeing this in the back of my mind. Now? Well, my father hasn’t been home very often recently. I don’t know where he’s been staying, but it sure as hell hasn’t been with us. I’m not worried about him. Right now, the only thing I need to worry about is John. 

“It’s going to be ok, l’amour  **(love)** ,” I whisper. He hiccups, sniffling and clinging to my t-shirt. There’s nothing I can say that will make this better. I can’t change that Francis is leaving. I can’t change that he’s going to London. I can’t change how hard it would be for him and John to keep their relationship going from such a far distance. I can’t do anything. It breaks my heart. I just keep threading my fingers delicately through his hair, trying to calm him down. He just needs some sleep. There’s a knock on my bedroom door, and my mother comes in. 

“Oh, John, darling. What happened?” she asks, immediately coming to the bed and sitting beside him. She rubs his back slowly, making circles. She’s always been good at soothing me, and it seems to be helping John too.

“Can I tell her?” I ask him quietly. He nods against my neck, and I look back at my mother.

“His boyfriend is two years older than us and is leaving for university in London. They...Had to end things,” I say. John sniffles, burrowing his face further into my neck. My mother’s frown deepens, before she scoots closer to John and me. Slowly and softly, she starts to sing a sweet French lullaby. She uses it on Nicolette, and she used it on me when I was young. I continue to stroke through his hair, and my mother is still rubbing circles on his back. After several minutes, his breathing slows and deepens, and he’s dead weight against me. I look up at my mother and nod, and she stops singing. We ease John off of me and take off his shoes, before covering him with a blanket. I brush some curls away from his face and kiss his forehead, before my mother and I exit my room. 

“Merci, maman  **(Thanks, mama)** ,” I say softly. She nods and kisses my temple, before we both go back downstairs. I sit at the table to work on my remaining homework, and she sits next to me. Maybe my homework can wait.

“So, John had a petit ami  **(boyfriend)** ?” she asks. I nod. She’s known about John being gay for years now, and has always been accepting of it. It had just slipped out, and she had just laughed and said she knew already. 

_ “I have a very pretty daughter, and most boys your age are already _ very _ interested in her. Plus, I have seen the way you look at autres garçons  _ **_(other boys)_ ** _ , dear boy,” _ she had said. And we had stared at her, before laughing. Her acceptance made me have hope that others would be accepting. Hell, there were parades for entire communities of people like John. Finally, I decided to extend my answer.

“His name is Francis. He’s really nice and super sweet. We actually ran into him at the park - John quite literally - and we…”

I told John he didn’t need to come to the airport with me. I told him he  _ shouldn’t. _ But he wanted to say goodbye, so here we are. We’re among Francis’ family and his friends from school, and I hold tightly to John’s hand. I can tell that one wrong move or word will send him into tears again. I don’t want him to cry anymore. I wish I could take all his heartbreak away. Francis hugs his parents and his other friends, leaving John and I for last. I let go of John’s hand for a moment and wrap my arms around Francis, pressing my cheek into his shoulder. 

“My parents are moving up to Maine, so I don’t know if I’m ever going to see you again,” he says, pulling away. I frown and squeeze his shoulder. 

“We’ll see each other again, Francis. Don’t worry,” I say softly. He bites his lip and nods, before his eyes drift over to John. I look at John too, but his head remains bowed. I go back to him and put my hands on his shoulders.

“Chérie  **(sweetheart)** , you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to...But I think we both know you want to say goodbye,” I say softly, rubbing my thumbs against his shoulders. He looks up at me and nods, but I can see his eyes tearing up. I move aside after a moment, and John looks up at Francis. His bottom lip quivers, and they just look at each other for a long moment. Francis slowly takes John into his arms, and my best friend immediately melts into the larger boy. He wraps his arms around Francis and clings to his shirt. My heart breaks for them, and I look away. His parents, John and I are the only ones still here with him. The airport is busy, for South Carolina standards. I hear a small noise, and look back at John and Francis. John has started crying again. Francis holds the hand closest to me up, silently telling me to leave it to him. He pulls back from John and cups his face between his hands. 

“You know I don’t want to leave you, John. I wish I didn’t have to. I like you  _ so _ much, and I want to stay with you. Please don’t cry,” he says softly. John squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears in. Francis’ eyes don’t leave him as he leans down and kisses John softly, before he pulls away again. His eyes are glassy with tears now too, and he holds onto John’s hand for several seconds.

“Goodbye, John,” he chokes out, a tear rolling down his face. With those last words, Francis collects his bags and goes through the gates. And as I stand and hold John, comforting him, I wonder if we’ll ever see Francis again. 


	8. Chapter 7: Anastasia's Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What an intriguing title. Whatever could it mean?

**Senior Year (March):**

I wave the small stuffed bear in about a foot away from Nicolette, grinning at her. The seven-month-old looks up at me with her big green eyes - a trait we share - and smiles at me with her one toothed grin. 

“Come on, Colette, you can do it,” I coo at her. She giggles and starts crawling toward me. I cheer when she reaches me and hand her the bear. She starts chewing on its ear and I giggle at her. My head jolts up at the doorbell rings, and I scoop Nicolette and her bear into my arms and walk through the house to answer it. I balance Nicolette on my hip as I peek through the peephole. There’s a pretty raven haired girl standing outside, dressed all businessy. I assume she’s an intern of some sort that works for my mother, so I unlock the door and open it. She looks up at me and smiles. 

“Hello, I’m looking for Charlotte Reama,” she says. I catch Nicolette’s bear mid-air as she drops it, handing it back to her. The woman looks impressed, and I smile slightly at her. She’s  _ really _ pretty. 

“Why do you need to speak with my mother?” I ask. Her eyes light up more than before.

“Oh! You must be Anastasia, then!” she says, before looking at Nicolette, “and this must be little Nicolette.” I nod and hold out my left hand for her to shake, as my right one is occupied. She shakes it.

“I’m Ginny. I work with your mother as her secretary,” she says. I raise an eyebrow.

“You look my age. Aren’t you...Young, to be her secretary?” I ask. She laughs and nods.   
“Yes, I am. Your mother is actually paying for me to finish college at the moment with this secretary job,” she says. I nod. That makes sense, for my mother. She’s a very charitable and compassionate woman.  _ Especially  _ for a businesswoman. Another car pulls into the driveway and stops, making Ginny turn her head. John steps out of the car, and I lift my hand in a wave.

“Bonjour mon amour!” I call, stepping toward the door. Ginny moves and allows me to step out, and I close the door behind me as I step out onto the porch to greet John.

“Hey, Ana,” he says, walking down the sidewalk. He stops in front of me and we la bise. Then he looks down at Nicolette and kisses the top of her head.

“Hey, ma petite fleur  **(my little flower)** ,” he says sweetly. Nicolette giggles and smiles at him, waving a hand and nearly dropping her bear again. John catches it this time, and we both turn to go back to the front door. Ginny stands there awkwardly, but she’s also staring at John with pink tinged cheeks. Oh boy, another straight girl with a crush on John. It’s the Martha Manning Incident all over again. Alright, maybe not  _ that _ extreme, but still. I calm my thundering heart and smile at her again.

“Well, I’ll just leave this file with you. I thought she would be at home by now, after her doctor’s appointment, but since she’s not, I’ll leave this with you,” Ginny says, handing the folder blindly out to me. John smiles at her and takes the folder for me since I, you know, currently have no free hands. She waves an enthusiastic goodbye to me and John, and I can pretty much hear her internal monologue of how “hot and beautiful” he is. Always the same until they find out he’s gay. Even after sometimes. John opens the door for me and I go inside, returning to the living room and putting Nicolette back on the floor. 

“Here, I’ll put that file in maman’s office,” I say. He nods and hands the file to me, before plopping himself down with Nicolette and handing her the bear. I watch for a moment before heading to my mother’s fancy office. Some people wouldn’t let their children in their offices, but  _ my _ mother lets me in here all the time. It’s where I keep my violin. I drop the folder on her desk and pause, thinking about Ginny. She was very pretty. My heart got faster just looking at her eyes and smile. I exhale and make a decision, returning to the living room. I sit next to John on the floor, watching Nicolette with a soft smile. Then I look at John. I have nothing to feel nervous about, but I still feel my nerves getting the better of me. I take a deep breath and tap his knee.

“Hey...John?” I ask. His attention falls on me and I start fidgeting with my hands. He smiles softly and encouragingly at me, and I look down at my hands.

“Is there a word to describe...Liking both males and females?” I ask softly. I peer up at him to see his reaction, but there really isn’t one to see.

“Yeah. It’s called bisexuality. Why?” he asks. I swallow and straighten my back, taking all my courage and building it up.

“John?”   
“Yeah?”

“I’m bisexual.” He just stares at me for a moment. Then two. Then he starts laughing. 

“Ana. Ana, I know,” he says through his laughs. My eyes widen.

“ _ What _ ?! How?” I ask. He finishes laughing and puts a hand on my knees.

“You know I love you, but your crush on Juliet was  _ not _ well hidden,” he teases. My cheeks heat up and I scowl at him.

“It was  _ to _ !” I huff, crossing my arms and looking away from him. He laughs again and pokes my shoulder.

“No it wasn’t~” he purrs. I press my lips together and push them out in a pout.

“Well, it’s not  _ my _ fault she was fuuuuu-” I stop myself as I look at Nicolette. “ _ Freaking _ gorgeous.” He grins at me, before putting an arm around me.

“I’m glad you finally came out to me. I’m proud of you,” he says. I glance over at him and my pout disappears. I smile and lean against him, the two of us watching Nicolette play. If only telling people were always this easy. Maybe I’d be able to tell my parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The “Martha Manning Incident” basically happened at Junior prom, where the students spiked the punch, and one Martha Manning tried to get John drunk so he’d sleep with her. Anastasia was able to step in and stop the entire thing, but it becomes a running joke between the two of them. Basically, when a girl is interested in John, one of them will say, “Oh look, it’s Martha.” Is that mean? Maybe a little. They mean it all in good fun, haha.


	9. Chapter 8: A Not so Horrible Prom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute gay things

**Senior Year (May):**

I adjust my hair for the third time, not entirely sure why I’m so nervous about tonight. Oh wait, I know exactly why.  _ Skylar _ . I’ve been crushing on her for the past four months. She’s so smart and beautiful. Kind too. Even to John. My friends have always been nice to John, but it’s been for no other reason other than the fact that he’s friends with me. Skylar is different. My mother knocks on my door and I turn. She smiles at me.

“John’s here,” she says. I smile and walk over to her, and she leads me downstairs. John is waiting with a full suit, his tie matching the green of my dress. He smiles at me and I smile back.

“Vous êtes belle  **(You look beautiful)** , Anastasia,” he says, kissing my cheek. I giggle and hug him tightly. When I step back, he picks up a box from the nearby side table, and holds it out to me. I open it and gasp.

“You got me a corsage?” He nods. “Oh, John.” I hug him again, smiling like an idiot. I didn’t think I’d ever get the full prom experience. I couldn’t buy myself my  _ own _ corsage, that would be silly! But John came through, and it makes me so happy. 

“Thank you, mon amour  **(my love)** ,” I say. He chuckles, then offers to help me put it on. I grin like an idiot the entire time he ties it onto my wrist, and then hug him again.

“D’accord  **(Okay)** , let me take some pictures of you two before you leave,” my mother says. John and I both laugh and nod, standing together in a few simple poses and letting her take our picture. She puts the camera down and walks over to us.

“Have fun, and be safe, mes chers  **(my dears)** ,” she says, kissing us both on the cheek and hugging us. She walks us to the door, telling us to be home by midnight. 

“And please, John, dear. Try to keep her out of trouble,” she jokes. I pout and John laughs, nodding and looping his arm through mine. We wave to my mother as he escorts me to his car, and - because he’s just  _ such _ a gentleman - opens the door for me. I snort and grin at him, carefully getting in. Once we’re both in and buckled, he turns on his car. Immediately, music is blasting from the speakers. Not just the lame South Carolinian country music either.  _ Good _ music. The type of music that isn’t going to be played at the dance, but who the fuck cares? I cheer and start singing along, earning me a loud laugh from John. This is going to be a fun night.

The gym is decorated pretty nicely, for a high school prom. I’m impressed. I look over as I hear loud squeals. 

“Holy shit, Ana you look gorgeous!” my friend Emma cries. I grin at her and let her hug my arm. 

“You look extrêmement belle  **(extremely beautiful)** too, mon ami,” I giggle. She grins at me, though I’m sure she doesn’t understand French. I’m tackled from behind as well, and only stay upright from Emma’s grip on my arm and John reaching out and grabbing my other one.

“Tonight is going to be  _ so _ fun!” Felicity yells, poking her head over my shoulder. I laugh and nod. I head off with them, holding onto John’s wrist so that he knows he’s welcome. He trails behind me until I abruptly stop, and he runs into me. 

“What is it?” he asks, following my gaze. He looks back at me with a smirk when he sees where I’m looking.

“Ohhhh, looking at Skylar, are we?” he teases softly. I rip my gaze from the beautiful girl and glare up at him. 

“Shut up!” I say, before yanking on his arm and following after Felicity and and Emma. They’re drinking punch, and I pause and stare at it.

“Did someone spike that again this year?” I ask, pointing at the scarlet drink. Emma grins, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. 

“I don’t know, you’ll have to tell me,” she says, holding out a plastic cup of punch to me. I give her a deadpan look.

“We don’t need another Martha Incident,” I say dully. John chuckles behind me, and Emma rolls her eyes.

“I guess that’s technically  _ fair _ , but seriously. Live a little, Ana,” she says. I shrug, and my ears perk up at the sound of softer music. A slow song. I look over my shoulder at John and smile slightly. He seems to read my mind as he smiles back and holds out his hand to me. I take it and he guides me to where the rest of our classmates are dancing. His arms wrap around my lower back and I drape mine over his shoulder and around his neck. We just smile at each other for a moment, before I put my head against his shoulder. And  _ this _ . This is why John is everything to me. We can tease and pick at each other all the time, but at the end of the day, beyond it all, we are  _ this _ . Best friends who love each other unconditionally. I smile when I hear him humming along to the song in my ear. When the song stops, I pull back and hang off his neck, smiling up at him. An upbeat song starts playing, and he grins cheekily before singing along, and I throw my head back and laugh. We dance together song after song, until another slow song comes on. I try to move and put my arms around him, but he grasps my biceps. 

“You should ask Skylar,” he says. My face gets hotter and I hope he can’t tell in the low light. I glance in the direction of my crush, and she’s laughing with her friends. No one is asking her to dance. 

“What if she laughs at me?” I ask softly, looking back up at John. He smiles at me.

“Where would Anastasia Reama be if she let every doubt or fear control her? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have punched as many people as you have,” he says. I giggle slightly and smile, before casting a soft glance in Skylar’s direction again. I nod and start walking over to her. Her ginger hair bounces in the light, making me feel breathless. My heart flutters, but I push myself forward. 

“Skylar!” I call when I’m close enough. I keep my tone casual and light. Friendly. She looks over at me, and her dark pink painted lips quirk up into a smile. 

“Anastasia!” she says. Damn, I love the way she says my name. She takes some steps away from her friends to come and hug me. When she steps away, she holds onto my hands.

“I love your dress!” she says. I grin at her and blush a little.

“Merci! Yours is beautiful too!” I compliment back. She giggles a thank you, making my stomach do backflips. I stand awkwardly for a few seconds, before clearing my throat and plucking up my courage.

“So, the slow song is almost over, but when the next one comes on would you-”

“Yes,” she says before I can finish. I gape at her for a second and she blushes, before letting go of my hands and returning to her friends. I flap my mouth open and closed uselessly for a second, before slipping off to find John. What the hell just happened?

“Incoming girl,” John whispers in my ear suddenly. I look over my shoulder, and Skylar lifts a hand in a shy wave as she approaches. My face is burning again, and I hear John chuckle. 

“Hi John. Can I steal her for a couple minutes?” she asks. John giggles - when did he start doing  _ that _ ? - and puts his arms around me.

“I dunno...I might just keep her around,” he teases. I come to my senses and roll my eyes, slapping his cheek. He laughs and pushes me forward.

“Bring her back when you’re done,” he says. Skylar nods and grabs my wrist, leading me through the crowd, then stops. We’re more in the corner than everyone else, but I don’t mind. She turns and puts her hands on my shoulders, and I put mine on her waist. She meets my gaze and smiles softly.

“Can I confess something?” she asks quietly. I nod, offering her a comforting smile. She takes a deep breath and takes a step closer to me, looking around warily before looking back at me. She leans toward me.

“I’m a lesbian,” she whispers. A moment later, she pulls back and looks around again, seeing if anyone besides me heard her. No one did. She looks back at me, and I smile at her.

“Well, I support you. I’m sure you already knew I would, since I  _ am _ friends with John,” I say, causing her to giggle. She has such a nice laugh. It’s cute. We sway silently, basking in the comfort between us. When the song ends we step apart, and I smile bashfully at her. 

“Come on, I still have to bring you back to John,” she says, looping and arm through mine. I giggle and nod, following her through the crowd. We find John drinking some punch, and  _ Jesus Christ is that Martha Manning again _ ? He notices us and waves, and Martha looks over. Seeing me, she turns the other way and disappears into the crowd. Good, I don’t have to deal with her tonight.

“So, first of all, is the punch spiked?” I ask. He waves the cup around in front of him and shrugs.

“Not that I can tell, but that could always change,” he says. I grin, before looping my free arm through his. 

“Second of all, we’ve gained another in our ranks,” I say a bit quieter. John raises an eyebrow at me, and I give him a look. His eyes widen for a second, before he looks at Skylar. 

“You’re-”   
“Yeah,” she says, smiling shyly. He grins and holds out his hand. She high fives him.

“Welcome to the club. Population you, me, and Ana,” he says. Skylar looks at me with a confused look.

“Are you...Like me? I thought you liked guys,” she says. I grin at her and shrug.

“I like both,” I say. Her mouth forms an “o” in understanding, and she nods. I look up at John and smile widely.

“Look at us,” I say, elbowing him, “the three musketeers.” He and Skylar laugh at me, and I giggle with them. 

“Sky, let’s dance!” some of her friends call. I look at her, and she smiles at me. 

“I enjoyed the dance. Thank you,” she says. I blush and smile at her.

“I enjoyed it too. Thank you for dancing with me,” I say shyly. She lets go of my arm and walks away, and I look back up at John. He has that mischievous look in his eyes that tells me I’m in for a long night of teasing.

My feet are aching to get out of these heels, and my hair is all messy. John and I decide to go out to get a late dinner. I hold onto his arm and lean on him as we walk across the parking lot to his car.

“Ana!” John and I both stop, looking back to see Skylar rushing towards us. John elbows me and walks ahead, while I turn fully around and smile.

“Skylar, he-” My sentence is interrupted by her grabbing my face and kissing me. I let out a shocked squeak, not having enough time to return the kiss. She pulls back, face flushed as she grins.

“Have a good night,” she says breathlessly, before hurrying in the opposite direction. I stare after her, jaw hanging open. I blink a few times and snap my mouth closed, turning and walking toward John in a daze.

“So, how was your first kiss?” he teases. This snaps me out of my trance and I glare at him.

“Oh, fuck you!”

I sip on my milkshake, staring out the window. John sits across the table, smirking at me with his face in his palm.

“So are we going to talk about-”

“No.” He chuckles as my cheeks flush. 

“Are we going to tell your mom-”

“Also no.” He hums and takes a sip of his milkshake too. I glance at him, and he’s looking at me thoughtfully. 

“Do you really want to hear me gush about her?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. He grins me, taking the straw out of his mouth. 

“There’s nothing I’d like more.”


	10. Chapter 9: Relive the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The largest flashback chapter you've ever fucking seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME TO ANGST CITY, POPULATION: YOU. 
> 
> It's a long one. Have fun!   
> No, seriously, it's almost 40,000 words. I split it into three parts on Wattpad, but here? ENJOY.

I hold the violin up and place it on my shoulder, holding it with half of my cheek. I lift my bow and position my other hand against the strings, before slowly starting to play. I let the music take me, guide me into a new world of bliss and tranquility. I close my eyes and let myself fall into it. Falling...Falling...Falling. Memories flood into my mind, and suddenly I remember everything.

Many, Many Flashbacks:

_ I creep down the stairs, seeing my mother stepping out the door.  _

_ “Mère  _ **_(Mother)_ ** _?” I call softly. She stops and looks over at where I stand on the stairs. She smiles softly in the darkness, walking quietly over to me. _

_ “What are you doing awake so late, mon cher? You should be asleep,” she whispers. I tilt my head at her. _

_ “Where are you going?” I ask quietly. She smiles at me and taps my nose. _

_ “You needn’t worry about that, petit  _ **_(little one)_ ** _ ,” she says, “go back up to bed.” I nod and quietly sneak back up the stairs. I look back only once, when I hear the door open and close, but do not think further about it. It is simply adult business. _

_ I wince as my father whips one of our slaves. It’s a boy, around my age. All he had done was smile at me. I look up at my mother, who isn’t watching the exchange.  _

_ “Mother, he did not do a thing wrong,” I say softly. She looks down at me and nods, putting a hand atop my head. _

_ “I know, darling,” she says. I glance back at my father and the slave boy. _

_ “Why is father hurting him?” I ask, voice sounding something like a whimper. My mother sighs.  _

_ “It is just the way things are,” she says, before softly adding, “though, I wish that it was not.” I don’t respond to her quieter statement, but it sticks in my mind. As does the boy. I run the thought through my mind over and over again. He did nothing except smile at me, and my father had hurt him. I don’t understand.  _

_ Later, I return to the fields, without my parents. I look around, searching for the boy.  _ There _. I look around before walking over to him. I clear my throat, and he jumps and looks up at me.  _

_ “I-I’m sorry miss, I didn’t mean to,” he says as soon as he sees me. I shake my head, once again looking around before drawing closer to him. I’m sure my father would hit me for what I’m about to do, but I will make sure he never knows. I gently take the boy’s hand in both of mine, watching him with the sincerest look I know. _

_ “I’m so sorry for what my father did to you,” I say, tears welling up in my eyes. He looks shocked at what I’ve just said, and the other slaves look up from their work. I see a slash mark on his cheek, and wince at the way it sticks out of his skin, a blistering color. I offer him a soft and apologetic smile.  _

_ “You have a very nice smile. I liked seeing it,” I say. His dark cheeks darken further, and he smiles slightly at me.  _

_ “Thank you, miss,” he says softly. He has nice eyes too, a pretty green color with flecks of gold. I could get lost in them.  _

_ “Anastasia!” The slaves and I all jump at the sound of my father’s voice, though it is distant. I glance in the direction of the sound, before looking back at the boy. I look back at the slash on his cheek, and I lean forward to kiss it softly before I let go of his hand. There’s a collective gasp between all of the surrounding slaves. I pull away, a blush spreading across my cheeks, similar to his own. I flash him a small smile before rushing away, taking an alternate way so that I don’t run into my father on the way back to the house. My thoughts linger again on the boy. I hope to see him again.  _

_ “Father? What else could I call the...The slaves?” I ask, the word feeling bitter on my tongue. My father looks at me with a scrutinizing brow.  _

_ “Negros, blacks. My favorite is ni-” _

_ “ _ Nathaniel _! Do not use such purtid language around our daughter!” my mother scolds. He turns to glare at her, but she glares right back. She looks at me, gaze softening. _

_ “Come, my dear. It is time for your violin lesson,” she says. I nod and rise from my seat, following her from the room.  _

_ “Bâtard  _ **_(Bastard)_ ** _ ,” my mother mutters. I look up at her, and she looks down at me, smiling softly. _

_ “Je m'excuse pour ma langue, ma chère  _ **_(I apologize for my language, my dear)_ ** _ ,” she says. I smile slightly and nod.  _

_ “Tu es pardonné, mère  _ **_(You are forgiven, mother)_ ** _ ,” I say. She looks back up and stops, picking up her violin. I pick up mine as well, and we both take seats.  _

_ “Mother?” I ask, not yet placing my violin against my shoulder. She looks at me with a questioning raise of her eyebrow.  _

_ “Did you hear my question to father?” I ask. She nods, before considering me for a moment. She sighs and puts her violin down, and I put mine down as well. She reaches out and takes my hands, holding them and my gaze. _

_ “Call them people, my darling. That is all they are.” _

_ Much like that night all that time ago, I creep down the stairs to see my mother at the door. Unlike before, I turn around and hurry back to my room, collecting shoes and quietly hurrying back to the stairs right as I hear the door close. I move silently down the stairs, and open the door. My mother’s figure would be gone were it not for the lantern she’s holding. I slip out the door and close it behind me, hurrying after her. Where is she going? She disappears into the huts that our...Workers. That our workers live in. I follow her again, peering through the door. There are maybe three of them around my mother, and she’s talking in a hushed tone. One of them is the boy. I’ve visited him enough to learn his name is Adam. He’s very kind to me. He glances over, eyes widening as our eyes meet. My mother follows his gaze, and I duck back around the corner. Footsteps come closer to me, and my mother looks around the corner, straight at me. _

_ “ _ Anastasia _! What are you doing here?” she hisses. I swallow and bow my head. _

_ “I am sorry, mother. I was curious as to where you were going. I remember that night when I was a child, you snuck out at the same time as tonight,” I say. She’s quiet for a moment, so I look up at her again. Slowly, I ask, “Mother, what are you doing out here?” She looks back inside the hut, then back at me, before sighing and offering her hand. _

_ “You must promise not to tell your father,” she says firmly. I nod instantaneously. She smiles lightly, and I take her hand. She motions with her lantern inside the hut, and then leads me and the three workers through the night. I trip a few times, and although she says nothing, I can sense her impatience. We walk in near silence through the trees, staying close to one another. Finally, we emerge, far outside the boundaries of our property. We continue to walk, my mother hiding the lantern within her cloak. I shiver, not having brought mine. Eventually, there is a road, and a dimly lit wagon sitting on it. My mother halts and whistles a few times in a steady pattern. There is another patterned whistle in response, and we continue. All the while, the pieces slowly fall into place. For many years, my father has gone on raging tangents about missing slaves. Most times it has been a small few disappearing, only three or four at a time. He would always replace them, but more would eventually disappear within the following months. Now I realize, they did not escape on their own. My mother has been helping them to get away all along. She could be arrested for something like this. My father would beat her for something like this. Assumingly, he would kill her too. It’s why he can never know. I will never tell him. My mother stops as we reach the wagon, releasing my hand to speak with the two people at the front. I turn to face Adam and the other two.  _

_ “You are going to be free,” I say softly, hoping he cannot see the slight sadness in my smile in the near dark. I am happy that he and two others will be free from my bastard father’s beatings and mistreatment...But I have taken a liking to him. He is my friend, and holds a piece of my heart. I wish he could be free, but he could stay with me. I will not voice this, as it is selfish...But it is still a feeling held deep in my heart. He smiles at me and nods. _

_ “Thanks to you, and your mother’s kind heart,” he whispers, taking my hand. I nod, squeezing his hand softly. A few moments later, my mother returns to my side, putting a hand on my shoulder. I look up at her, and she gives me a sympathetic look before turning to address Adam and the others.  _

_ “They will take you up north, where it will be safer for you. I pray that you may all live better lives away from my husband,” she says softly. The girl comes forward, taking my mother’s hand.  _

_ “Thank you, miss Charlotte,” she whispers gratefully. I can see her tears sparkling in the moonlight. She looks like Adam. So does the other boy. My mother frees families. My mother smiles at her, brushing hair delicately away from the girl’s face and giving her hand a squeeze. Then the girl lets go, holding out her hand to the other boy. _

_ “Come, Joseph. We must go,” she says softly. The boy, clearly the youngest of the three, nods and takes her hand. They walk around the back of the wagon, and Adam stays with me for a moment.  _

_ “Make your farewell swift, darling,” my mother warns softly, stepping a few paces away from where Adam and I stand. I meet the boy’s golden green eyes. _

_ “I wish you the best of life, cher garçon  _ **_(dear boy)_ ** _ ,” I whisper. He smiles softly at me, eyes shining glassy with unshed tears. Without thinking more of it, I throw my arms around him and embrace him.  _

_ “Anastasia, your dress! Your father will surely notice-” _

_ “To hell with my father,” I whisper. He relaxes in my arms and wraps his around my waist, face buried into my hair.  _

_ “Au revoir  _ **_(Goodbye)_ ** _ , Anastasia,” he mutters. I give a tight squeeze. _

_ “Au revoir, Adam,” I whisper back. Slowly, we let go, and I kiss his scarred cheek one last time. Then he walks to the back of the wagon and climbs in with his family. I step away to join my mother, watching the wagon disappear into the night. My mother takes my hand and we begin walking back.  _

_ “How many have you freed?” I ask once we have entered the forest leading back to our property. She hums thoughtfully.  _

_ “Your father’s book marking the many that have disappeared would be exact, but...Over the years, I have freed hundreds of people,” she says pridefully. I smile slightly at her achievement, proud of her. Minutes pass in the dark, unspoken of.  _

_ “Mother?” I break through. She glances down at me. “I hope that one day, there will not be slaves anymore.” She stops for a moment to fully consider my words, before she smiles slightly and kisses my forehead. _

_ “And if people with the same beliefs as you and I work hard enough, mayhaps, my dear, that will be so.” _

_ My eyes pour over the words spilling across the page, my interest held easily. I made the excuse to my father that this is my favorite place to read, though really I simply like to watch over the workers. Keep an eye on them so that I can give them warning if my father is near.  _

_ “What are you reading?” I jump slightly, nearly losing the grip on my book. I look down. There is a pretty girl there, her eyes a lovely caramel color. While I’m not familiar with all those whom my father owns, I recognize her as someone he’s bought recently. I look around to make sure my father isn’t around, before I climb down from the tree branch I’m sitting on to settle on the ground near her.  _

_ “It’s called  _ Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded _ ,” I say, smiling politely at her. She smiles back, before returning to her work. _

_ “Is it any good, miss?” she asks as she works. I hum, looking back at the book for a moment.  _

_ “I suppose it holds my interest quite well,” I say. She glances over at me, smiling. I admire her beauty for a moment, a warm feeling overcoming me. I wonder only momentarily about what it means. _

_ “What is your name?” I ask curiously. She blinks with surprise, as if not expecting me to ask or care what her name is. I suppose it’s a fair assumption. My father certainly doesn’t care. She collects herself after a moment and looks away from me. _

_ “My name is Skylar, miss,” she says. I smile at her, though she doesn’t see it. _

_ “That’s a beautiful name,” I comment, and she giggles a little. “Please, Skylar, call me Anastasia.” She looks over at me again and nods, smiling. _

_ “Yes, miss Anastasia,” she says playfully. I give her an equally playful glare, and she giggles again, looking away from me. I like her laugh. It’s cute.  _

_ “Anastasia, dinner!” my mother calls. I look up in the direction of her voice and sigh, rising and brushing my skirt off.  _

_ “I hope to speak to you again, Skylar,” I say, glancing over at the girl again. She smiles at me and nods, and I smile back before turning and going toward my mother’s voice. I’m left with a warm and fluttery feeling in my chest, and I do not yet recognize that I’ve felt it before. Years ago. _

_ “It’s pretty tonight, isn’t it?” Skylar says softly, staring up at the night sky. I hum, nodding silently before looking over at her. She looks so beautiful in the moonlight. I weave our fingers together in the grass, and she looks over at me in surprise. I feel my face heat up, and try to pull my hand away. She holds on. _

_ “It’s alright,” she says, smiling shyly at me. I think I see her cheeks darken, but with so little light, I can’t be sure. I hold her hand a little tighter, holding her amber gaze.  _

_ “Do you think...That we feel the same way about each other?” I ask in a whisper. Her fingers tighten around my hand, and she looks down at them for a moment. _

_ “Yes...But it is wrong, isn’t it? In more ways than one. We could both be killed,” she says softly. I draw a little closer to her, squeezing her hand in mine. _

_ “I’ve come this far. Do you not think I’m prepared to die for you?” I ask softly. She looks back up at me, a soft smile adorning her face.  _

_ “Then I am prepared to die for you too,” she whispers, leaning closer. We both smile softly before our lips softly meet. It’s a feeling unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s this warm hope and joy in the pit of my stomach. It’s all I ever want and need in life.  _ She _ is all I want and need in life. That would be enough. _

_ She stares at the small necklace sitting in my hand. I’ve never worn it before, yet it is somehow my favorite. The small ruby shines in the light of the moon, and the gold chain sits in contrast against my skin. She looks up, eyes wide. _

_ “Anastasia...I can’t possibly take this,” she says. I smile sweetly at her. _

_ “Of course you can. You just have to hide it. When I finally get you out of here, you can use this to run and live. It must be worth something,” I say, taking one of her hands and pressing the necklace into it. I close her hand around it, and she stares at her hand for a long moment.  _

_ “I don’t want to leave you,” she says softly. I nod, tucking her hair behind her ear. _

_ “I know, mon amour, but it isn’t safe for you here,” I say. She looks up at me, eyes shining with unshed tears.  _

_ “I love you,” she whispers, throwing her arms around me. I hold her tightly, face pressed into her hair.  _

_ “I love you too,” I whisper back.  _

_ I stare blankly at the pages of the journal, words simply not finding me. I’ve finally finished my schoolwork, and for the past hour or so, I’ve been trying to write music for my violin. I’m preoccupid, to say the least. I look up at where my mother is sewing my initials into a silk handkerchief. _

_ “Mère?” I ask slowly, feeling nervous. She looks up at me, offering me a kind smile.  _

_ “Yes, mon cher?” she asks. I swallow, setting my journal aside. She does the same with her sewing. I take a deep breath.  _

_ “If I told you...That I was in love, you would support me, no matter what, oui?” I ask. She smiles and brushes off her skirt, standing and moving to sit next to me. I move my journal into my lap, and she takes hold of one of my hands. _

_ “Of course, mon cher. You will always have my love and support,” she says. I feel my stomach knots untwist slightly, and I squeeze her hand as I smile.  _

_ “Well...I guess I wanted to tell you-” _

_ “Where did you get this?” My mother and I both look up as we hear my father yelling. He’s in the fields at the moment. I hear a whip crack, and both my mother and I spring up from our chairs. We run to the source of my father’s shouts, finding him with whip in hand, and a girl at his feet. It’s bad enough when I think it’s one of the many I don’t know. It’s worse when I realize that I do know her.  _

_ “Skylar!” I scream, trying to run to her. My mother catches me around my waist, not letting me move forward. My father pays no mind to my outcry, cracking the whip down on her again. _

_ “Answer me, you thieving little bitch! Where did you get that jewelry?” he spits. The necklace I gave her...No, no.  _

_ “Father, stop! I didn’t want it anymore! I gave it to her!” I yell. He pauses for a moment, head snapping around. He levels his hard, cold gaze on me. Then he’s looking back at Skylar, pulling her up by the hair.  _

_ “You steal from me and turn my daughter into a skank? I hope you rot in hell,” he snarls. I try to get to Skylar, to protect her. My father holds out his other hand, and one of the men who watch the fields hands him a gun. Skylar is crying, and I’m fighting desperately to get to her. _

_ “No! Father no, please!” I scream. My father raises the gun against Skylar’s head, and she looks past him at me.  _

_ ‘I love you,’ she mouths. A gunshot rings through the air and Skylar goes limp. I scream and collapse in my mother’s arms, sobbing. I don’t hear the boots walk up to me. My hair is grabbed and my head is jerked upwards. A hand slaps harshly across my cheek.  _

_ “Shut the fuck up, you little whore,” my father snarls. He releases my head, and my mother lets me fall. _

_ “ _ Nathaniel, do not  _ hit our daughter-” I hear another slapping noise. _

_ “Shut up, bitch.” His boots crunch in the dirt as he storms away. My mother is quiet, before she wraps her arms around me, holding me to her chest. _

_ “I loved her, mother. I loved her,” I sob. She shushes me and nods. _

_ “I know, mon petit  _ **_(my little one)_ ** _. I know,” she mutters, kissing the top of my head. My heart is cold and heavy, but beneath it is hot rage and hatred. I hate my father. I will  _ never _ forgive him. _

_ I stare at the large house before me, fidgeting with my hands. This is where mother and I will live now that the divorce has been settled. Mr. Johnson had made sure we were well taken care of after winning my mother’s case. My father could keep the plantation, but a majority of the money was ours and we would keep receiving profit from what was sold. We had also taken all of the house slaves with us, and my mother said they were free if they wished. Some had gone, most had stayed. Mother had promised to take care of them.  _

_ “Would you like to choose your room, Miss Anastasia, so that we can move your things inside?” one of our now-employees, Harrison, asks. I turn and smile softly at him. He has the same eyes as Skylar did. I slowly nod, following him into the house. The second floor has several rooms, two of which have balconies and a powder room. I choose the smaller of the rooms, and Harrison leaves me there. I step out onto the balcony, dress flowing weakly in the chilly air. I stare out, eyes far away and unseeing.  _

_ “Anastasia, mon amour?” My mother puts an arm through mine, giving it a squeeze. I feel my bottom lip quiver, and a tear rolls down my face, but I turn to her with a small smile. _

_ “It’s a new beginning, mère  _ **_(mother)_ ** _. I just wonder what it will hold,” I say. She brushes some hair out of my face and offers me a comforting smile.  _

_ “Only the best things, I’m sure, my dear.” _

_ It is not unlike men to have their hair long enough to pull back, so that is how I have cut mine. It is much shorter than before, but when down, I would be seen as a female. I stand in the line, men’s clothes hanging over my form. The shirt and coat are loose enough to hide my...feminine appendages. When I reach him, the man at the table gives me a once over. I pray he does not catch on.  _

_ “Name?” he asks. I clear my throat and deepen my voice as I speak.  _

_ “Anthony Mear, enlisting, sir,” I say, tucking my arms behind my back. He nods, scribbling something down in a journal.  _

_ “Head down to the base camp. You’ll receive your orders from there,” he says without looking up. I give a sharp nod anyway and turn, marching off toward the base camp. I hope I walk like a man. I hope I do a lot of things like a man. Was my voice deep enough? Oh, I’ve really gotten myself into it this time. _

_ “You, young sir!” I turn at the sound of a French accented voice. A tall man rushes toward me, hair bouncing in its bun atop his head. He has darker skin, a sort of deep caramel color. He’s absolutely beautiful. I swallow and drop my voice.  _

_ “What can I do for you, sir?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. He grins apologetically at me as he stops, towering over me. _

_ “You are...Anzony Mear, oui?” he asks. I give him an intrigued look before I nod. His face lights up.  _

_ “You speak French, oui?” he confirms. I smile slightly at him. _

_ “Oui,” I respond, nodding. He sighs with relief.  _

_ “Oh, merci mon Dieu. Il n'y a presque personne ici qui parle français  _ **_(Oh, thank God. There is almost no one here who speaks French)_ ** _ ,” he says. I chuckle and nod.  _

_ “Oui. Je ne le parle que parce que ma mère est française  _ **_(Yes. I only speak it because my mother is French)_ ** _ ,” I respond. He smiles at me, before sticking out a hand for me to shake. _

_ “Je suis  _ **_(I am)_ ** _ Marie-Joseph-Paul-Yves-Roch-Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette,” he says. I barely contain my feminine giggle, but do so by covering my mouth with my hand. _

_ “C'est un nom très long  _ **_(That is a very long name)_ ** _ ,” I manage to say. I collect myself and shake his hand. He smiles brightly at me. _

_ “Un plaisir de vous rencontrer  _ **_(A pleasure to meet you)_ ** _ , Anzony,” he says. I nod.  _

_ “Le plaisir est tout à moi, monsieur  _ **_(The pleasure is all mine, sir)_ ** _.” _

_ The guns fire, the cannons explode. This is what war sounds like. I leap down into a trench, panting.  _

_ “Maer, you alright?” I look over, seeing one John Laurens crouching nearby. I nod, and check my gun, before looking back at him. _

_ “Laurens,” I call. He looks back at me, and I motion with my head and gun. He gives a sharp nod and readies his gun. I mouth a countdown, and at the end we both pop up, aiming our guns and firing in unison.  _

_ “Incoming!” Something explodes to my right, causing me to drop back down into cover, ears ringing. I press a hand against my head, the noise around me muffling beneath the ringing. A hand lands firmly on my shoulder, and I force myself to open my eyes. Laurens is saying something, but I can’t hear him beyond the ringing. Realizing I’m not understanding, he holds my gaze for a moment, staring at me intently. I take a deep breath and shake my head, the sounds of war fading back in.  _

_ “I’m fine, Laurens. Get back to the fight. I’ll be right behind you,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder too. He nods and gives me a small salute. _

_ “Ey ey, Lieutenant,” he says, giving me a cocky smile. Then he’s standing up, firing his gun, and herdling out of the trench. I take two quick breaths, jumping up and aiming. I feel safer with this gun in my hands. Not invincible, but stronger. Faster. I throw myself out of the trench, charging forward into the fray. A British soldier meets the end of my bayonette, and I see the fear in his eyes the moment before he falls, dead. I pray that will not be my fate. I move my attention briefly to the left when I hear victorious laughter. Lafayette stands proudly at the cleared line, watching several redcoats retreat. From the trees, however, I spot one, aiming his gun. I take off running toward Lafayette.  _

_ “Watch out!” I yell, running into him at full force as a gunshot rings out. Angry red heat and pain seer through my side, and I cry out in pain. I don’t even recognize if I’d deepened my voice when I did so. I collapse on the ground next to Lafayette, who yells my fake name and gets up, firing at the redcoat in the trees. I don’t see if he kills him, but the next thing I know, I’m being hoisted over the big man’s shoulder. I’m carried into the cover of the trees, and he leans my body against the trunk of a larger one. He sets his gun down and reaches to rip open my coat and shirt.  _

_ “Lafayette,” I say, frantically batting his hands away. He looks into my eyes for a moment, before pushing my hand away and pressing down on the wound. I gasp, clutching onto his arm. _

_ “I need to remove your shirt to get to where you are bleeding, mon amie,” he says, looking me in the eyes again. I shake my head. _

_ “You can’t. I can’t let you,” I say, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. This is it. This is where the charade ends.  _

_ “Anthony, you are going to bleed out. I cannot let you die. Why will you not let me-“ I let my voice return to its natural tone, higher and less gruff than how I’ve been speaking for the past months.  _

_ “Because I am a woman, Lafayette,” I say, a tear escaping. His movements freeze, and the sounds of the battlefield fade into the background for just a moment.  _

_ “You are...A woman?” he repeats. I nod, turning my head to look away. I’ve lied to him. I wouldn’t blame him if he left me to die now. Instead, however, he wipes the tear from my cheek with a bloody thumb, and begins unbuttoning my coat. I turn my head to object, but he shushes me and keeps working. With my coat unbuttoned, he begins lifting my shirt, though only enough to see the bullet wound. No higher. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and I laugh slightly. _

_ “A handkerchief will not stop the bleeding, Lafayette,” I say. He huffs and pushes it firmly against the wound. _

_ “It is all I have, Anth-“ he cuts himself off as he remembers. I smile slightly at him. _

_ “Anastasia. My name is Anastasia,” I say softly. He smiles, taking my bloody hand in his and giving it a squeeze.  _

_ “A pleasure to make your acquaintance once more, mademoiselle Anastasia,” he says, equally as soft. I laugh a bit again, and Lafayette bites his lip for a moment.  _

_ “You know that you’re almost definitely going to be discharged from the army after I bring you back, yes?” he asks. I nod. _

_ “That is why I’ve been careful...Until today,” I say. He frowns deeply, fingers sticky with blood squeezing my own.  _

_ “Why?” he asks, so quiet that I almost don’t hear him over the sounds of battle. I smile softly. _

_ “What can I say? You’ve charmed me, monsieur,” I say. His fingers lift from my hand, gently caressing my face. Then suddenly he’s leaning down and kissing me ever so softly. To say that I had never thought of this before - kissing him, I mean - would be a lie. But I know very well that he’s married to a lovely French woman named Adrienne, whom he loves very much. Even so, I can’t help but allow my eyes to flutter closed as I return his kiss. For a battlefield kiss, it seems so long. Perhaps thirty seconds. He pulls away slowly, gaze meeting mine. _ _   
_ _ “I will not let you die for me,” he promises. I nod, exhaling shakily and watching him pick up his gun.  _

_ “When the way is clear, I will take you back. We will treat your wound. You  _ will _ live,” he says, giving my hand another squeeze. I sigh, allowing my eyes to close. I do not fear the thought of death taking me, at this moment. I trust that I will not. I trust that Lafayette will protect me and hold to his promise. I trust...I trust… _

_ There is a light, feathery touch against my forehead. My body aches. I open my eyes to familiar brown ones. I smile softly, and he smiles back. _

_ “Bonsoir mon bijou  _ **_(Good evening, my jewel)_ ** _ ,” he says, taking my hand. I let my eyes fall to the gesture, before looking back at him. _

_ “Bonsoir Lafayette,” I respond hoarsely. A throat clears, and we both look up. General Washington. I swallow. _

_ “Would you give me a moment with her, monsieur Lafayette?” he asks. Lafayette nods, giving my hand a final squeeze before he rises and leaves. I realize I’m surrounded by curtains, separated from the rest of the medical tent. I try to sit up, but pain shoots through my ribs and I gasp and whimper, hand shooting to my wound. The General comes forward, helping me into a sitting position carefully. I had heard he treated his men like sons, but seeing the fatherly compassion - ha, what would I know about that? - is something else entirely. I clear my throat. _

_ “Thank you, General,” I say softly. He nods, taking a seat in the chair that Lafayette had been in.  _

_ “You’re lucky, Miss Mear. The bullet went right through you between your ribs. It was fairly easy to save you, I hear,” he says. I touch my fingers to my shirt, over where the wound is.  _

_ “Reama. I used a false last name as well. My name is Anastasia Reama, General,” I say, deciding the truth is the best option. Perhaps he will let me stay and fight. I have proven my worth, have I not? He nods, lips quirking slightly into a miniscule smile.  _

_ “You had us fooled, Miss Reama. Perhaps your mannerisms were a bit feminine, but you fought better than some of the men. You’ve been a very valuable soldier,” he says. I smile slightly, averting my eyes from him. _

_ “Thank you, General,” I say, acknowledging the praise. He sighs. _

_ “But I must discharge you. You know this, yes?” he says. I frown, looking back at him. _

_ “I expected as much...But there must be something I can do to help the war. To help America. You’ve already said I’m a valuable soldier. There must be something I can-” He raises a hand and I go quiet. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, before rising and putting a hand on my shoulder. _

_ “That can be discussed at a later time. For now, rest, Miss Reama. I must write a letter to your family and let them know that you’re here,” he says. I swallow and nod. _

_ “Yes, sir,” I say softly. He gives my shoulder a small squeeze and helps me to lie down again, before ducking out of my small private space and leaving me with my thoughts. There must be a way that I can continue to help. I just have to figure out what it is. _

_ When the medical tent was needed for more wounded soldiers, General Washington insisted that I could stay in his quarters. He allowed me his cot and slept upright in a chair. A letter had been sent to my mother, and we had yet to hear back. The General takes care of me like I’m his own daughter. He’s a kind man. An honorable man.  _

“I wish my father was like you,” _ I’d confided in him one night. He had smiled at me as he brushed some hair away from my face.  _

“I wish that I had a daughter like you,” _ he’d said. That was one night where he fell asleep with his head in his arms, leaned on his cot. The same cot which I sit in now, waiting for my mother to arrive. We’d finally received her reply three days ago, and she was supposed to arrive today to collect me and discuss an arrangement with the General.  _

_ “I will miss you, mon bijou  _ **_(my jewel)_ ** _ ,” Lafayette says, sitting across from me on a chair. I smile at him, playing with the end of one of my short locks.  _

_ “As will I, mon amie,” I say. The door squeaks open, and we both turn. Hamilton and Laurens are standing there.  _

_ “So it was true. You  _ are _ a woman. I thought it was just a rumor,” Hamilton says. I giggle and my grin widens.  _

_ “Non, Hamilton. It is true. I’m a woman,” I say. He steps around Laurens and walks toward me, holding out his hand. I raise a playful eyebrow and put my hand in his, watching him kiss my knuckles. I lightly smack his nose, and he gasps in surprise. Laurens and Lafayette snicker.  _

_ “You should’ve known my mischieviousness was not one of the falsities I put up,” I say, smirking at him. He gapes at me, before all four of us break out into laughter again.  _

_ “I had my suspicions, but I still can’t believe I was right about your being a woman,” Laurens says, walking over to stand behind Lafayette’s chair. I tilt my head. _

_ “What made you suspicious, if I might ask?” I inquire. He leans his cheek into his hand, mimicking my head tilt. _

_ “I don’t know, really. Although, you forgot to change your voice in the trench after the cannonball hit. I thought it was my ears deceiving me,” he says. I smile and shake my head, sighing. _

_ “You were convincing, though. And a good soldier. We’ll be sad to lose you, Lieutenant,” Hamilton says. I nod. _

_ “I’m sad to go. I don’t regret being shot, but I wish I could continue to fight for our freedom,” I say. Hamilton drops down next to me on the bed, much the rather apparent displeasure of Laurens and Lafayette. Hamilton doesn’t notice, and he puts an arm around my shoulders. _

_ “I’m sure the General will find some way for you to help, miss Reama,” he says. A throat clears, and I look over my shoulder again. General Washington is standing in the doorway. All three men shoot upright, saluting him. _

_ “Sir!” Hamilton cries, just a pitch too high. I giggle, but my attention remains on the General. _

_ “Your mother is arriving, Anastasia,” he says. I nod and stand, brushing off the pants and shirt that were given to me. I’m sure the moment she sees me, mother will be shoving one of my dresses in my face, so I enjoy the feel of the pants and shirt - and lack of a corset - for as long as I can. I follow Washington out of his quarters and we walk through camp, the three men trailing behind us. When I see my mother, I resist the urge to shriek happily. It’s been many months since I’ve seen her. I joined the war two years ago, but have been periodically visiting her, lying about my whereabouts and simply claiming travel and adventure. I see that Harrison is with her, and he’s the one who notices me first. He points, and my mother turns. I can feel her relief from here, but I remain behind the General. He reaches her first.  _

_ “Miss Frossard, thank you for coming today,” he says, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. She smiles politely at him and curtsies.  _

_ “Thank you for returning my daughter to me. I was deathly worried for her,” she says. He smiles and nods. _

_ “I know it’s not particularly ladylike, but your daughter was one of my best. If not her actions, you should be proud of her bravery and perseverance,” he says. My mother looks up at me, smiling softly. _

_ “I’m proud of all her accomplishments, General. Thank you for taking care of her,” she says, briefly glancing at Washington again. He nods and lets go of her hand, allowing her to come to me. She flicks my forehead. _

_ “Ow! Maman  _ **_(Mama)_ ** _!” I whine. She smiles at me before taking me into her arms. _

_ “Zhat is for making your mother worry,” she says softly. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. I’ve missed her so much. She holds me for several seconds, before pulling back and inspecting me. _

_ “Tes cheveux sont beaux comme ça  _ **_(Your hair looks nice like that)_ ** _ ,” she comments. I smile at her.  _

_ “J'ai oublié qu'Anastasia m'a dit que sa mère était française  _ **_(I forgot that Anastasia told me her mother was French)_ ** _!” Lafayette says, coming forward. My mother turns to look at him and smiles. She allows him to take her hand and kiss her knuckles, like the General did. He grins charmingly at her. _

_ “C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, mademoiselle  _ **_(It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss)_ ** _ Frossard,” he says politely. She smiles at him and curtsies.  _

_ “Un plaisir de vous rencontrer aussi, monsieur  _ **_(A pleasure to meet you too, sir)_ ** _ ,” she responds. He grins at her, probably noting her accent. It must be refreshing to finally meet someone from the same place as yourself.  _

_ “I am Marie-Joseph-Paul-Yves-Roch-Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette,” he says. She chuckles.  _

_ “An awfully long name, isn’t it, monsieur Lafayette?” she says pleasantly. He chuckles too and nods. By now, Laurens and Hamilton have come forward and are standing by politely. Both kiss my mother’s knuckles and introduce themselves. Finally, General Washington steps in.  _

_ “The three of you, back to your duties. I would like to speak with Miss Frossard and her daughter about the arrangement,” he says. The three men nod. Alexander salutes me as he steps away. Laurens smiles and kisses my knuckles before following after him. And Lafayette wraps me into an embrace. _

_ “Au revoir, mon bijou  _ **_(Goodbye, my jewel)_ ** _ ,” he whispers into my ear. Then he’s stepping away too, and I am left with my mother and the General. Washington puts a hand on my shoulder, beckoning me forward. We guide my mother to his workspace, and all of us settle into chairs.  _

_ “As I’m sure you remember from your letter, your daughter is very adamant about helping with the war to free America. I cannot in good concious let her continue to fight, so we reached an arrangement which you said we would discuss in your response,” Washington says. My mother nods, back straight and posture poised. It’s been a long while since I’ve thought about either of these things, and I find myself sitting up straighter to mimic her. She doesn’t notice, but the General’s lips quirk when he does.  _

_ “Yes, I remember. I’d like to contribute all the funds that you need to win this war,” my mother says. The General’s eyes widen, and my head snaps over to look at her.  _

_ “That...Is very generous, Miss Frossard. Are you certain you’d like to do that? This war is expensive, and it could go on for an extended period of time,” he says. My mother nods and looks over at me.  _

_ “My daughter has always been a soldier of justice. If you will find other ways to allow her to help with the war, I will gladly supply you all the money you could need,” she says, looking back at the General. He smiles and nods, standing up and holding out his hand. _

_ “It is a deal,” he says. My mother rises and shakes his hand. _

_ “A deal, then.” _

_ Two years have since passed since I was on the battlefield’s front lines. My mother provides funds, and I provide my combat strategies and prowess for writing. When Hamilton cannot, it is I who writes letters to Congress. Does Hamilton know? That I can’t say. I’m certain not. Now I stand in a ballroom. 1780. A Winter’s Ball. I search around for the Schuyler sisters, my dear friends. Particularly, Peggy. God, I love Peggy. I have not told her, nor do I intend to. We would be killed…Just as Skylar was. And anyway, I am to be married in the following months. It would not matter anyway, if she returned my affections. We cannot be together. It is not that I do not love my soon-to-be husband. I simply love Peggy more. Then, I spot her, yellow dress helping her stand out in the crowd. I move gracefully through the crowd toward her. _

_ “Peggy!” I call when I’m close enough. She turns her head and smiles at me, beautiful eyes shining. It’s always what I fall in love with first, isn’t it? A person’s eyes. Peggy has the most beautiful eyes of all those who have held my affections. Though, Lafayette is a very close second. We la bise, and I hold her hands in mine. _

_ “It is so good to see you!” I say, grinning adoringly at her. She smiles back at me, frizzy hair framing her face in such a beautiful way. Oh, how I wish I could be with her.  _

_ “It’s good to see you too! It feels like it has been forever! You’re getting married soon, aren’t you?” she asks. Her excitement seems to die when she says that last sentence, but I fear it is a figment of my imagination, so I ignore it. My smile softens a little, and I look down. _

_ “Yes, I am,” I say. She squeezes my fingertips, bringing my gaze back up into her eyes. She slides one of her hands up my wrist and leads me across the ballroom to sit down.  _

_ “Tell me all about him,” she says, turning to face me. I hum, biting my lip slightly. I don’t notice her eyes drawn to the movement.  _

_ “He’s very kind and handsome. His mind is so much like mine that we could be one person. He views slavery in the same way as I, and we’re going to do what my mother did and have the African Americans work for us instead of enslaving them. He’s a lawyer, and...and...Hm,” I try to think of more about him, but I can’t think of anything. Her smile almost seems forced, but again, I can only imagine it is my mind’s own distorted image of reality, and ignore it.  _

_ “Pardon me, mademoiselles, but could I offer either of you my friend to dance with?” I recognize that voice. I look up, eyes landing on a familiar scruffy man.  _

_ “Alexander?” I ask, standing up. His eyes and smile land on me, and they widen slightly in surprise. _

_ “Anastasia?” he confirms. I nod and he laughs, wrapping his arms around me. I laugh with him, returning his hug.  _

_ “It is good to see you. How has your work with the General been?” I ask, stepping away after a few moments. He smiles at me.  _

_ “It’s been well. And yours?” he asks. I grin mischievously at him. _ _   
_ _ “I’ll be stealing your position in no time, Hamilton. Just you wait,” I tease. He huffs and rolls his eyes with fondness, smile never leaving his face.  _

_ “I’m sure, Anastasia,” he chuckles. I flick his nose, and he bats my hand away. I straighten up and hold myself properly.  _

_ “Now, who would I be dancing with, if I may ask?” I question, cocking an eyebrow. He smirks, before turning and gesturing across the ballroom at someone. I turn my focus across the room. There he is. Mon Lafayette. That’s who Alexander is gesturing to. He stands awkwardly at the side of the ballroom, politely denying any woman who takes interest in him.  _

_ “A challenge?” I ask, earning a smirk of my own as I look back at Alexander. He drops his hand and nods. I straighten my back again and walk with poise and purpose across the room toward Lafayette. When I reach him, I immediately go into a cursty, bowing my head. _

_ “Might I have this dance, monsieur?” I ask. I take a few seconds before I straighten, grinning up at him. He appears shocked. _

_ “Anastasia...Mon bijou  _ **_(my jewel)_ ** _!” he stutters out. I giggle and nod, holding out my hand to him. He hesitates, and I quickly swipe down and take his hand.  _

_ “Danse avec moi, mon ami. S'il vous plaît  _ **_(Dance with me, my friend. Please)_ ** _?” I beg, holding his gaze with puppy eyes. He opens and closes his mouth uselessly like a fish, and I giggle. This seems to pull him into a trance, as he gains a soft smile and sighs, giving my hand a thoughtful squeeze. _

_ “Je dois vous prévenir ... Je ne suis pas vraiment danseuse. Assez maladroit, en fait  _ **_(I must warn you...I am not much of a dancer. Quite clumsy, actually)_ ** _ ,” he says bashfully. I giggle, tugging him along behind me. He could easily resist. He does not. _

_ “Ce n'est pas un problème! Je vais t'apprendre! Moi, contrairement à toi, je suis très gracieux  _ **_(That is not a problem! I will teach you! I, unlike you, am quite graceful)_ ** _ ,” I say. He chuckles softly, and continues to allow me to lead him further into the fray of party guests. When we reach a spot in the open, I turn toward him and squeeze his hand. He puts a hand on my back, and I put my free one on his shoulder. He fidgets uncomfortably, and I pull him just the slightest bit closer.  _

_ “Suivez mes pas, oui?  _ **_(Follow my steps, yes?)_ ** _ ” I say, hoping to comfort him. He nods, holding my gaze, and I begin stepping in time with the music.  _

_ “Un deux trois quatre. Un deux trois quatre  _ **_(One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four)_ ** _ ,” I mutter, keeping time for him. He stumbles a few times, but I just give him a comforting smile, and he eventually picks it up. One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four. There you go, Lafayette. I grin at him, and he smiles back bashfully. Finally, the music ends, and I allow him to step away. I curtsy, and he bows, both of us grinning like fools. He lifts my hand and kisses it again. A moment flashes in my mind, where I remember what those lips felt like against mine. I feel that he is thinking the same thing, as his eyes flicker to where my lips are set in a smile. He clears his throat and we both look away, my hand dropping from his.  _

_ “I should be finding Alexander. He’s likely getting into trouble that I will have to pull him from,” I say. He nods, and I slip by him, shivering when our arms brush. I love Peggy. I’m getting married. I long for Lafayette. God, what a mess I’ve made. My eyes search the ballroom, seeking the short man no doubt pestering some ladies. Instead, my eyes land on another old comrade. John Laurens. He’s staring longingly across the room, and I follow his gaze. Straight to Alexander. My eyes shoot back to Laurens, and all the pieces finally fit. I’d had my suspicions, but...Knowing it to be true is another thing entirely. I summon the courage that I’d lost ending my conversation with Lafayette, and cross the ballroom to reach Laurens. When I’m close enough, he smiles politely at me, clearly not recognizing me. I slip closer, shocking the words out of him. _

_ “You love him, don’t you?” I ask softly, only loud enough for him to hear. His eyes widen and he looks around nervously, before grabbing hold of my arm and dragging me behind him. Once we’re outside, and alone, he turns to me. _

_ “I’m sorry, do I know you?” he hisses. I smile kindly at him, before holding my hair back into a ponytail. He stares at me for a moment, and I drop my voice. _

_ “Don’t you recognize your Lieutenant, Laurens?” I ask, using the voice I gave to Anthony. His eyes wide further in recognition.  _

_ “You’re...An...An-” he seems to be struggling with a name, and I giggle, returning my voice to normal. _

_ “Anastasia. I used the name Anthony,” I provide. He breaks into a small, embarrassed smile. _

_ “I knew that,” he says. I smirk slightly at him and raise my eyebrow in challenge, and he chuckles. _ _   
_ _ “Alright, maybe not. Forgive me, we haven’t spoken in some two years,” he says. I nod. He’s correct. We haven’t spoken to one another since I was taken home by my mother in 1778. Still, I decide to tease. _

_ “I served at your side for nearly three years, Laurens. You injure me,” I say, feigning offense. He glares slightly at me, but it disappears when I don’t stop smiling. He sighs, and we find a bench to sit on.  _

_ “About what you said,” he says slowly. I put a hand on his shoulder, hoping it’s comforting.  _

_ “Alexander. You love him, don’t you?” I repeat my earlier words. He swallows and looks into my eyes, searching for maliciousness or anything sinister. He seems to find nothing, as he sighs and nods slightly. I smile softly at him, before staring out into the night. It is cold. I wish I’d brought out a coat. I shiver, and he puts an arm around me. _

_ “Might I confide something of the similar sort to you?” I ask. He nods, and I lean closer to him. _

_ “I’m in love with a forbidden subject,” I say. He chuckles a little. _ _   
_ _ “With Lafayette, I kn-” _

_ “No.” He turns to look at me, raising an eyebrow. I swallow. “I hold deep affection for him, you are correct. But I...I am in love with another woman. Peggy Schuyler.” His mouth falls open slightly, and I look away. He squeezes my arm gently, just trying to draw my attention back to him. It works, as I turn my head back in his direction. He looks at me, and I can see the similar pain in his eyes to what I’m sure mine hold. I can feel it beating from his heart. Empathy. Real, pure, empathy.  _

_ “What do you love about her?” he asks. I smile a little. _

_ “What do  _ you _ love about Alexander?” I deflect. He smiles too. _

_ “That list could go on.” _

_ “As could mine.” It’s a mutual understanding. In this moment, it’s decided. We will be there for each other. Support one another through the pain of loving someone whom we cannot have.  _

_ “If we’re going to be close like this, you should call me John,” he says, obviously trying to lighten things. I smile a little and nod, pressing myself into him and his body heat. He’s warm. It’s warm here. Safe here.  _

_ “Of course, John.” _

  
  


_ (This was inspired by a fic I read on AO3, which I still have saved because I adore it. Here’s the link:  _ [ _ https://archiveofourown.org/works/12524156/chapters/28518612#workskin _ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12524156/chapters/28518612#workskin) _ ) _

_ “If he’s any later, Angelica may kill him before he has the chance to marry Eliza,” Peggy whispers to me. I hum, looking around, before leaning a bit closer to her.  _

_ “I’m sure John is just trying to calm him down. God knows that man isn’t cocky when he needs to be.” She giggles near my ear, making me blush before I continue. “But, I’ll go look for them anyway. Hold my place.” She rolls her eyes, as if she has a choice. We’re both bridesmaids. My place is held no matter what. I send a look to Angelica, who seems to understand the mission. She nods, and I hurry down one of the many hallways to find Alexander and John. I hear their voices up ahead, and quicken my pace. As I turn into the open doorway, however, I find them locked by the lips. Kissing. I step back where they can’t see me, waiting. I hear mutters inside, but try to block them out. It’s not my conversation to listen to. Alexander nearly runs into me when he turns the corner out the door, and he jumps.  _

_ “Anastasia?!” he yelps. I tilt my head and give him a look. He pushes my shoulders into the wall. _

_ “How much did you hear? How much did you see?” he demands. Before I can open my mouth fully, there’s a hand on his arm. We both look at John, who’s smiling lovingly at Alexander.  _

_ “It’s alright, Lex. She knows,” he says. Alexander looks back at me, bewildered. _

_ “You know and you’re...You’re-” _ _   
_ _ “Accepting and supportive,” I finish for him. His eyes brighten, and he hugs me.  _ Very _ tightly. I can feel him relax against me, so obviously relieved by my response. My support. He finally lets go, looking at John, then at me, and back at John again. I take one of his hands and squeeze it, my empathy for them strong and real. They didn’t choose to love each other, they just do. It’s not their fault that they can’t openly love in this world. In this life. I kiss both of their cheeks, and we all exchange gentle glances. Then they both offer their arms to me, and I loop my arms through theirs. We walk silently through the hallway. Angelica huffs when she sees us, but waves her hands, beckoning us to come faster. I give them both a firm squeeze on their arms, then return to Peggy’s side. She nudges me gently, and I smile slightly, feeling my cheeks warm. Despite my most logical thoughts, I loop my arm through hers briefly, her side pressed against mine. For a moment, I feel her tense up, worrying that I’ve crossed a line. Will I be hung? Simply a social outcast? Lose Peggy? But then she’s relaxing against me, flexing her arm to squeeze it against mine. So this is what acceptance feels like. I feel a warm feeling in my chest, and I’m sure my smile is absolutely ridiculous. John sends me a knowing look, but I don’t stop smiling. Finally, the ceremony begins. Alexander walks down the aisle first, stopping at the altar and turning to watch the rest of us. Angelica links arms with John, and they walk. Peggy squeezes her arm against mine once more, before she’s letting go and linking arms with Lafayette instead. They follow behind John and Angelica. Aaron Burr was supposed to walk with me. He has not yet arrived, if he is coming at all. Hercules Mulligan, taking the place of the flower girl, holds out his arm to me. I grin at him and link my arm through his. He settles the basket on the arm mine is looped through, the two of us following behind Peggy and Lafayette. Along the way, Hercules tosses flower petals along the aisle. It’s...Quite amusing. At one point, he takes a handful of petals and sprinkles them over my head. I giggle, and catch the fond smiles of the entire wedding congregation. Or, at least, Peggy, John, Alex, and Lafayette. I finally release Hercules’ arm at the end of the aisle, and we part. I stand beside Peggy, smiling softly as I watch Eliza and her father begin walking down the aisle to Alexander. I glance at John, and despite the pained look in his eyes, he seems happy. And so, the wedding commences. _

_ I read the letter that I’m sending to the General. A request about my wedding. Is it too personal? I can’t decide. Perhaps this is crossing a line between work and personal? I read it again. _

My dear Mr. Washington,

I hope that this letter finds you in good health and that the war is treating you kindly. As kindly as a war can treat a man, I suppose. This is not the sort of letter that I usually send you, be warned, but it is of the utmost importance to me, so I hope that you can set that aside. 

As you know, General, I am getting married shortly after this letter will reach you. Two weeks, to be precise. You know all too well that it is usually a father’s duty to bring his daughter down the aisle. I would rather die in war than have my wretched father come anywhere near me. I never want to see the man again. However, if you are understanding where this letter is leading, that is exactly what I wish to talk about. My request, dear General, is that you not only attend my wedding. I would like you to take the place of my father and walk me down the aisle as well. You know you are a precious part of my life. You have given me more fatherly love than I have received my entire life in these past years. You also know that I am not a woman who begs for the things I want. I fight for them. Just this once, however, I make the exception, and I beg you, General, walk me down the aisle. 

Of course, your lovely wife Martha is also invited. I would be honored if she were to join us. I’ve sent invitations to some of your men, you can guess which ones, I’m sure.  If you are able When you decide to come to the wedding, please, do bring them with you. The men they are, they will more likely than not forget about the day entirely. 

But, alas, I must be back to my work. The letters following this one shall be back to their usual orders, I assure you. I bid you a good day, sir. Continue to make the fight for our nation strong. 

Sincerely yours,

Anastasia Reama, soon-to-be Derven

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_ I tap my fingers against the desk, pondering. It’s a good letter, I decide. I will send it. I give the ink a few moments to dry, before folding it up and slipping it into an envelope. I take some wax and melt it over the seal, pressing the stamp down on it. I hold it there for some time, before pulling the stamp up. The seal is perfect, and I smile.  _

_ I turn it over and scrawl out “General Washington” on it, before placing my quill back in its place. _

_ “Genevieve?” I call, looking over my shoulder. The tall woman pokes her head into the room, a questioning look on her face. I hold up the letter in her line of sight. _

_ “Could you please make sure this is delivered? It’s very important,” I say. She smiles and nods, entering the room and taking the letter from me.  _

_ “Of course, Miss. I’d be happy to,” she says. I stand and thank her, watching her exit the room before moving to stand by the window. I look out. Yes, soon I’ll be married. It is my hope that General Washington will be the one to hand me off.  _

_ An echoing clinking sound resonates throughout the banquet hall, and I look up. Peggy, my maid of honor, is clinking her knife against her glass to attract everyone’s attention. A speech. A hush falls over the room and Peggy’s eyes land on me. _

_ “A toast to the groom,” she says. I smile softly at her as the guests and I raise our glasses, “and to the bride. Anastasia has been my dear friend for more years than I thought possible, and she deserves all the happiness the world has to offer. Jonathan, if you’re even half the man that she describes you to be, then you’ve already done more than enough to deserve her. I know you’ll take care of my  _ beloved _ friend, and you’ll cherish her with all that you are. I wish you a lifetime of happiness with one another, and the best of health. To Anastasia and Jonathan.” _

_ “To Anastasia and Jonathan!” the guests chime. The way in which Peggy spoke...I could see something in her eyes. The way she emphasized certain words.  _ Beloved _. Could she possibly...Love me? No, no. Of course not. I stand up and move around the table to hug her, grin on my face.  _

_ “Thank you, Peggy, for being here and for your beautiful speech,” I say, taking her hands when I reach her. She smiles and nods, giving my hands a firm squeeze. _

_ “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything, Anastasia. You know that I-” she cuts herself off and clears her throat.  _

_ “You’re very dear to me,” she corrects herself. I feel my heart beating faster. _

_ “What were you about to say, Peggy?” I ask. She looks around, before looking back at me and shaking her head.  _

_ “Not here,” she says in a low voice. I glance over at my new husband and wave, before following Peggy from the room. The outside of the banquet hall is surrounded by a small garden, where we settle beneath the sky of stars. It’s beautiful. I turn to look at Peggy. Her eyes are sparkling under the stars and moonlight. She looks beautiful.  _

_ “I trust you with everything...But this is different,” she says softly. I draw closer to her, holding lightly to her arms and squeezing encouragingly.  _

_ “You know you don’t have to tell me,” I tell her. She looks up at me, before reaching up and squeezing my arms too.  _

_ “Yes I do. It’s my last chance,” she whispers. I hold her gaze, and she holds mine. _

_ “I love you, Anastasia,” she breathes. My lungs cease function, and my eyes widen just a fraction. She seems to take it as a rejection of sorts, and she pulls away from me. _

_ “I know it’s wrong, and that it’s sinful, but I can’t help it. I love you with everything in my being, Anastasia. I can’t help these feelings, and I understand if you cannot or will not return them, but I needed to tell you and-” I step forward and take her into my arms, burying my face into her hair near her ear. _

_ “Hush, Peggy. It’s alright,” I whisper, pulling back ever so slightly to look into her eyes, “I love you too.” Her eyes were already filling with tears, but now they’re released. But she smiles. _

_ “You do?” she whispers. I nod, smiling at her with adoration. She lifts her hands to hold my face, and I stand and admire her beauty. The light in her eyes that has nothing to do with the stars. I want to kiss her, but I cannot. It is my wedding night. How can I? I watch her eyes flicker to my lips and up again, and I stand and wait.  _ Wait for it. Wait for it. _ She leans in, and I haven’t the heart to push her away. I want it too much. Her lips brush mine, and it’s as if an explosion goes off in my chest. It’s warm and the most true feeling in the world. I allow my eyes to flutter shut and press myself into her, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. Oh, how I wish we could be together like this. It lasts for only a few seconds before I force myself to pull away. We both open our eyes, gazes meeting. I stare at her sadly. _

_ “I’m married, Peggy,” I whisper painfully. She frowns slightly and nods, her longing and pain evident. I hold on tighter to her. _

_ “But I  _ love you _ , Peggy Schuyler. My marriage does nothing to dissipate that,” I promise her. She leans in and holds onto me, and I hold on too. We cling to one another, knowing the battle is over before it’s even begun. We cannot be together. Not tonight, nor after. We were born in a world where we cannot love. That, I think, is the most heartbreaking thing.  _

_ Rage. Pent up, boiling rage. I glare down at the letter, reading it for a fifth time. Alexander and John are doing  _ what _?! Dueling! They’re going to duel with Charles Lee. Idiots, the both of them! I leave the letter on the desk and stand, taking strong steps toward the door before pausing. I press my hand to my stomach. My baby...Perhaps this isn’t a good idea. No, no, I need to do this. I hurry through the house, waving off each helper who questions me. At the door, though, a young girl stops me. _

_ “Miss Anastasia, where are you going?” she, Marie, asks. I sigh. Jonathan should know where I’ve gone. _

_ “My dear friend John Laurens is in danger of doing something stupid. I must go to his camp and sort common sense into his brain,” I say firmly, tugging on my coat. She helps me with the coat and begins buttoning it for me, despite my not asking her to. _

_ “The same Laurens you write to so often, Miss?” she asks. I nod, forgetting she isn’t looking at me.  _

_ “Oui, Marie. The very same one,” I say calmly. She nods and opens the door for me. _

_ “When should we expect you to return?” she asks. I run the idea over in my mind another time. _

_ “No later than tomorrow night before supper,” I say. Once again, she nods, and I wordlessly hurry out the door. I wave down a nearby carriage, not caring what condition it’s in. I must first return to my mother’s home, where I have left my men’s clothing. I am also in need of a horse. I will get both from home. _

_ The feeling of pants, shirt, and boots are a familiar feeling on my frame, and I make sure my hair is tied securely back before I whip the reins and ride my horse off into town. I know the route to the camp by heart. Perhaps it will take hours, but I must get there. The idiots! The fools! I have to knock sense into them. I snap the reins and urge my horse to go faster. For a moment, I forget about my baby. _

_ The camp is busy, just as usual, just as I remember it being. It’s familiar, even after two years away. Some of the aides seem to recognize me, and I nearly fall off my horse when I see Lafayette look up at me. I slow my horse to a trot and loop around, stopping her next to Lafayette. _

_ “Que fais-tu ici  _ **_(What are you doing here)_ ** _?” he hisses, grabbing some of the reins to make sure I don’t run away from him. I dismount my horse, holding onto her reins.  _

_ “Je suis ici pour dénoncer une certaine paire d'hommes  _ **_(I’m here to tell off a certain pair of men)_ ** _. Where are Hamilton and Laurens?” I demand, not bothering to set things casually. His eyes widen slightly at the tone of my voice. He has not heard this sort of command from me in a long while. He sighs and looks around, before putting a hand against my lower back. _

_ “I will take you to them,” he says. We tie my horse up at a nearby post, and he leads me through the camp. His hand does not leave my back. _

_ “Comment va ton bébé, mon bijou  _ **_(How is your baby, my jewel)_ ** _?” he asks, quietly and suddenly. I’d forgotten for a moment, and now I press a hand to my stomach. You cannot tell from the men’s clothing, but my stomach has begun rounding from the pregnancy. _

_ “John told you?” I ask, equally as quiet. He glances at me and nods, a soft, almost sad smile on his face. I smile back softly, momentarily forgetting what brought me here. _

_ “She is well, mon Lafayette. I cannot wait to hold her in my arms,” I say. He chuckles softly. _

_ “You can already tell that it is a female?” he asks. I close my eyes for a moment and nod, feeling in my every fiber that my child is a beautiful little girl. Lafayette finally stops walking, and I open my eyes again. _

_ “They work in this tent, mon bijou. They should be inside,” he says. I nod and take a deep breath, pushing down the softness from our previous conversation and allowing my anger to rise again. _

_ “Je vous remercie  _ **_(Thank you)_ ** _ , Lafayette,” I say. He nods, and it takes him another moment to move his hand from against my back. I push the flap of the tent open and duck inside. John and Alexander are just a little too close to be platonic, and I clear my throat. Both of them jump and move away from each other, before turning their gazes on me. I cross my arms over my chest and give them a harsh look, and their eyes widen. _

_ “Anastasia, what are you-” _

_ “You are both utter and complete  _ idiots _ ,” I snap, walking further into the tent to stand closer to the two. They exchange a glance. _

_ “What do you mean?” John asks, sounding a little nervous. I send a harsh glance at Alexander. _

_ “You hid that you wrote to me, didn’t you? He doesn’t know,” I say. His shoulders sink and he looks smaller than before. I glance at John, who’s staring acusingly at Alexander. _

_ “I didn’t think you’d show up. You’re pregnant, Anastasia. You shouldn’t be here,” Alexander says, not meeting John’s gaze. I glare at him, then look back at John. _

_ “I cannot believe that you thought it was a good idea to duel Charles Lee,” I say, gaze sharp. He looks at me, flinching when he sees my eyes, before he leans back against his desk and looks at the floor. _

_ “He needs to answer for his words, Ana, and Alex couldn’t do it, so-” My gaze softens ever so slightly. _

_ “You’re doing it for Alexander,” I interrupt. He looks up at me and nods, at which I sigh and press my hands against my temples.  _

_ “You are both  _ so _ foolish,” I grumble, shaking my head. There’s a quiet moment between the three of us, before I look up at Alexander. _

_ “You had better not get him killed. If he dies, you’ll be next,” I threaten firmly. Alexander swallows heavily, and John touches my arm. I look up at him, and he tries to give me a reassuring look. _

_ “I’ll win. I swear it,” he says. I swipe his hand away from my arm. _

_ “I’ve been a second to many men. You have no idea of the numerous times I heard that said, only to watch the same man die,” I snap. I point a finger up at him. “I will not allow the same to happen to you.” He looks taken aback, opening and closing his mouth several times to respond, but nothing seems to fit. It happens another time before the tent flap opens again, and the three of us snap our attention to whomever has entered. It’s the General. Fuck. _

_ “Anastasia?” he asks, seemingly shocked as he raises an eyebrow. I nod, arms snapping behind my back out of muscle memory. _

_ “Yes, General. I apologize for my sudden visit,” I say. Judging by his gaze, he doesn’t know why I’m here. Despite my better judgement, I decide to keep it that way.  _

_ “What are you doing here, Mrs. Derven?” he asks. I clear my throat and take a confident step toward him. _

_ “I came to discuss some battle strategy in person. However, I became distracted when I began a discussion with my friends. My apologies, sir,” I say. He sighs and nods, giving Alexander and John a look over my shoulder. _

_ “Back to work, both of you,” he orders. I look back at them, watching them salute and return to their individual desks, not looking at the General or myself anymore.  _

_ “Come, Mrs. Derven. We will discuss in my tent,” he says. I look back at him and nod, watching him turn and exit the tent. I look back over my shoulder at the two men. _

_ “Remember what I said,” I say. They both look up at me, and John nods. I exhale and follow the General out of the tent, mildly concerned over how I can possibly lie my way through this discussion. _

_ “General Washington, Sir, there’s something you should know about.” The General and I both look up as the aide comes in, panting. It’s early morning, sunrise. Before the sun is in the sky. The General raises an eyebrow as if to silently tell the boy to continue, only to be interrupted by a gunshot ringing through the air. _

_ “Lee and Laurens are dueling,” the aide finishes. Both I and the General shoot to our feet, though I can tell different things possess us. For him, I’m sure it’s displeasure, perhaps anger. For me, it’s erratic worry and fear. John. I have to get to John. I follow the marching general, charging in the direction that the aide is leading us. The dueling ground stands before me, and three of the four men are yelling, while a medic is hastily trying to tend to Charles Lee’s wound to the side.  _

_ “What is the meaning of this?” the General shouts. I, on the other hand, run to John and Alexander.  _

_ “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” I demand, grabbing John’s face and forcing him to look at me. My eyes flicker over his form, concluding he hasn’t been shot, and I embrace him tightly. _

_ “You’re still a fool,” I whisper in his ear. He holds me equally as tight, the adrenaline of the duel wearing off. I don’t cry, but I come close. I pull my head from his chest to look at Alexander. _

_ “You are very lucky,” I tell him quietly. He nods, relief filled eyes staring at John. Pitying him, I open one of my arms, welcoming him into the embrace. The three of us huddle for maybe ten seconds before the General is yelling toward us, startling us apart. _

_ “Hamilton!” _

_ “Sir!” _

_ “My tent, now. That is an order!” Alexander glances at John and I, and I give his arm a reassuring squeeze, whilst also yanking him in the General’s direction. _

_ “Mrs. Derven!” I turn and face him at the sound of my name. _

_ “Sir?” _

_ “Stay with Laurens. We will continue our conversation once this issue is dealt with,” he says. I nod sharply and watch him and Alexander march away. Lee, his second, and the medic have all vanished, leaving just John and I. It is then that I push myself away from him and allow myself to vomit. He’s at my side in seconds, one hand against my back and the other grasping my arm. I let out a sob, but no tears escape. He rubs soothing circles against my back, and I pant for a moment before straightening. John wipes my mouth with a handkerchief he pulls from inside his coat, and I lean against him. _

_ “From the baby?” he asks, holding loosely around my waist. I nod.  _

_ “And the stress of your  _ stupid fucking duel _ ,” I snap weakly. He chuckles slightly, and I smile a little. _

_ “Such a dirty mouth on such a lovely lady,” he mutters. I close my eyes, not answering for a moment. _

_ “What can I say? I got it from all of you,” I say softly. He chuckles again, before noticing my exhausted state. Had I not mentioned I didn’t sleep the night before? Non, I couldn’t sleep. I was far too worried about John and the duel. Without much difficulty, John lifts me in a bridal carry, letting my head rest against his chest. I don’t notice how long he carries me. It only feels as if a moment has passed.  _

_ “John! Is she alright?” I hear the familiar French accent and smile softly. John makes a silent response, before adding to it. _

_ “She’s just exhausted. Carrying a baby must rob her of energy,” he says. I hum and nod slightly. _

_ “And they say men are the stronger sex,” I mutter. John chuckles, then relays what I said to Lafayette, who also chuckles.  _

_ “Rest, mon bijou  _ **_(my jewel)_ ** _ , we will take care of you,” Lafayette says, brushing loose hair off of my forehead. I trust them both, so I follow instruction. I sleep. _

_ “Are you sure you’re alright, my love?” Jonathan asks. I glance up from the letter I’ve certainly read over a hundred times. I bite my lip and look down again. I feel as if I  _ should _ feel upset, but I do not. I sigh and look back at my husband. _

_ “My father was a horrible man. I have not told you all that he did to my mother, and to me, and I do not intend to. I have no issue with the fact that he’s dead,” I say calmly. He nods and takes my hand, squeezing it. I look out the window of the carriage. There’s a hilarious irony in the way my father died. He beat his slaves, and their uprising was what killed him. It’s funny. The bastard deserved it. The carriage jolts to a stop, and I put my free hand against my belly. My baby will be born in the next two or three months, the doctors have said. I cannot wait for her arrival. The carriage door opens and my husband steps out, before turning and offering his hand to me. I take it and allow him to help me climb out. We stand before my mother’s house. I’ve come to make sure she is alright, after my father’s death. I think she does hate him, but he was still her husband, and she loved him once. Additionally, it is an excuse to see my mother. It has been a few months since I’ve visited. Jonathan leads me to the door and knocks. There is silence within the house. He knocks a bit louder. Harrison finally opens the door a few seconds later, tears rolling down his face. _

_ “Oh, Harrison! What’s happened?” I ask, worried about the kind man’s tears. He opens and closes his mouth, but all that comes out is a sob. I reach out and take one of his hands, squeezing it. _

_ “Harrison, please tell me what’s wrong,” I beg slightly. He hiccups and looks into my eyes. _

_ “It’s your mother, miss Anastasia. She...She’s...She was sick and she-” He cuts himself off with another sob, and an icy cold strikes as I realize the intent of his words. _

_ “No…” I push past Harrison and run into the house, arm protectively around my belly. I climb the stairs and burst into my mother’s room. Everyone who works in her house is around her bed, crying.  _

_ “No, no no no. Mother!” I cry. They allow me through, and I find my mother. She’s pale and sickly, with sweat coating her forehead. And she’s not breathing. Her eyes stare at the ceiling, glazed over.  _ No! _ I collapse against her bed, my head against her stomach, and sob. She’s gone. My mother is dead. _

_ I haven’t moved from bed since we arrived home three days ago. I see no point. What is the use? I will still step outside and never see my mother again. At least here, in my bed, in my room, I never expect to see her. I can pretend she is not dead here. The door creaks open, and I shut my eyes. I know it is of no use. The entire staff knows that I have not slept properly in three days, as does Jonathan. _

_ “Miss Anastasia?” It is Marie. I do not answer, but she continues to speak anyway. “There are some men here to see you. They claim to be friends of yours.” I open my eyes and stare at the wall.  _

_ “Did you receive names?” I ask, voice raspy and quiet. She walks a bit further into the room. _

_ “One of them was John Laurens, Miss,” she says. I can only imagine that he and Alexander are here. Though, I heard that Alexander was sent home. Perhaps John and Lafayette.  _

_ “Alright,” I say quietly. I start pushing myself up, and she hurries to help me, holding onto my arm. I thank her quietly and follow her out of my dark bedroom. As we descend the stairs, I can hear conversation in the sitting room. _

_ “...They said that Miss Frossard had been sick for a few months, and had only just succumbed to her sickness after recieving a letter about her previous husband’s death,” Jonathan says. I can hear boots moving in pacing across the floor. _

_ “She died from the sadness?” Lafayette asks. Jonathan chuckles slightly. _

_ “Actually, her final words were apparently, ‘I hope he rots in hell. He was a damn bastard,’” he says. I almost smile at that. My mother is... _ Was _ a fiery woman. I want to be just like her.  _

_ “Sirs,” Marie calls their attention to us as she leads me into the room. John looks up from his pacing area, and Alexander, Lafayette, and...General Washington? They look up at me too. So does my husband.  _

_ “Anastasia,” John gasps, immediately coming toward me. He carefully embraces me, cautious of my belly. I grasp his coat and close my eyes, feeling all the emotions welling up again. I’ve been numb or crying for the past few days, and the pregnancy and lack of sleep are not helping my mentality.  _

_ “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” John is whispering in my ear. I bury my face into his coat, not wanting to let them see my weakness. Everything hurts. Everything is painful. More arms encircle me, holding me compassionately. I let out a sob into John’s jacket, and all the arms seem to tighten.  _

_ “Tout ira bien, mon bijou. Nous serons là à vos côtés  _ **_(It will be alright, my jewel. We will be here at your side)_ ** _ ,” Lafayette mutters. I hiccup, and a hand reaches between the other bodies. It grasps one of mine tightly, offering as much comfort as such a small gesture can. In time, I trust that I will move on, but until that moment, I know that these men, whom I love, will take care of me. _

_ The four soldiers had carried my mother’s casket to where we would bury her. My mother’s entire staff is here. The Schuylers are here. Many of my mother’s friends and their spouses are here. And then, there’s me. Tears roll down my cheeks as I stand surrounded by the men who love me most. One hand is held by my husband, and the other is held by Lafayette. John has a hand on my shoulder as he stands behind me. Alexander is at his side, and General Washington is next to him. All of them stand together around me. When the service is over, I, along with many of her friends, walk forward with flowers. She was a bit cliche, my mother. A romantic. A love for roses. My tears drip onto the rose’s petals as I set them down atop the fresh dirt. The headstone sits ominous and taunting, my mother’s name curving across the stone, elegant and proper like she was. I stay on my knees, a hand over my stomach. She will never get to meet her granddaughter. I feel it when someone settles on the ground next to me. An arm loops slowly through mine, and I look up at them with tears still on my face. Peggy’s frowning, sadness evident against her features. _

_ “She was an incredible woman,” she says softly. I lean against her and close my eyes, and she discreetly takes my hand within the folds of our skirts. _

_ “Yes...Yes she was.” _

_ And here she is...My baby girl. Joyful tears have filled my eyes. She cries, but it means she is here. She is here and she is  _ my _ baby girl. Jonathan kisses my forehead, staring down at her.  _

_ “We don’t even have a name,” he says softly, smiling at our daughter. I stare down at her little face, her adorable cheeks. She breathes softly in my arms. I want to name her after my mother, but Charlotte would be too painful. I ponder for a moment longer.  _ Charlotte Lilith Frossard _.  _

_ “Lilith,” I say, stroking the baby girl’s cheek. My husband chuckles slightly, leaning his cheek atop my head.  _

_ “It’s beautiful. Perfect,” he whispers. I close my eyes, feeling warm in this moment. This is the only thing I need. My husband and my daughter.  _

_ “Lilith Skylar Derven,” I mutter. My husband kisses my forehead again. _

_ “Lilith Skylar Derven,” he agrees.  _

_ There’s a loud, excited knocking on the door.  _

_ “I will get it, Miss,” Genevieve says, standing up from where she is sewing a new blanket for Lilith. The entire staff loves my baby girl, and have been making her gifts since she was born a week ago. It’s not as though she needs the blankets. She is a spring baby, after all. A few moments after Genevieve leaves the room, a loud voice emerges. _

_ “Anastasia!” Oh, it seems John received my letter. He comes bounding into the room, and I smile at him. _

_ “Hush, you’ll wake up Lilith,” I scold softly. He puts his hands over his mouth, practically to the ceiling with his excited bouncing. I giggle and stand up, brushing off my skirt and motioning for him to follow me. He does so, and I hold onto his arm to keep him from running off ahead of me. The door creaks ever so slightly as I open it, but Lilith doesn’t stir. John takes off his jacket and sets it aside on the back of the rocking chair in the corner. I slowly move across the room and take Lilith from her cradle, coddling her in a soft light purple blanket. I turn back to John, who’s just standing there, staring at her, and at me. I realize, then, that he has tears in his eyes. Even Jonathan hadn’t cried in joy for our daughter. Yet, here is John, teary-eyed at a baby girl who is not even his. He draws closer, putting an arm around me. _

_ “She’s beautiful,” he says. I smile and nod, leaning into him for a moment. I glance at his face, full of adoration for my little girl.  _

_ “Would you like to hold her?” I ask. He looks up at me and swallows, but nods. I show him how to hold her properly, and he slowly takes her from my arms. He holds her as carefully as if she were a piece of glass, and I can see a tear roll down his cheek as he smiles at her.  _

_ “Hi there, mon petit tout  _ **_(my little everything)_ ** _ ,” he mutters. I smile at the nickname. I know he has never met his daughter, Frances. I like to think that if he had, he would love her as he loves Lilith. As he loves Lilith… _

_ “John?” I ask quietly, standing beside him and watching him smile at the baby in his arms. He looks at me. _

_ “If there is anything to be learned from my mother’s death, it is that death can take you at any time. I may not live to see my daughter grow up. Jonathan could never come back every day, even if he isn’t fighting in the war. So...I want to ask. If something happens to Jonathan and I...I’d like you to be her godfather,” I say. His eyes widen, and he’s silent for a long time. He looks down at Lilith again and smiles again after a moment.  _

_ “I’d be honored, Anastasia,” he says. I smile and hold onto his arm, leaning against him. For a moment, it is just us. This. This would be enough. _

_ “Miss Anastasia?” I look up as Harrison enters. I smile at him, putting my quill down. I’m finishing my latest letter to John, but that can wait a few moments. _

_ “Yes, Harrison?” I ask. He clears his throat and walks in, holding a letter.  _

_ “You have a letter from South Carolina,” he says, holding up the paper. I stand up. Another letter from John! I cross the room to him and reach for the letter. _

_ “From John Laurens? Thank you, Harri-” _ _   
_ _ “No, ma’am. It’s from his father.” My hand freezes, and my body feels cold. Why...Would his father…? _

_ “His father?” I confirm. He nods, and I swallow heavily. _

_ “Will you read it for me?” I ask, voice shaking nervously. He nods and unfolds the letter, clearing his throat. _

_ “ _ Miss Anastasia Derven,

On Tuesday, the twenty seventh, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops in South Carolina. These troops had not yet received word from Yorktown that the war was over. He is buried here until his family can send for his remains. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting 3,000 men for the first all-black military regiment. 

The surviving members of this regiment have been returned to their masters.” 

No.  _ No no no no. I can’t have lost him too. My entire body is shaking. No...It can’t be true. I feel tears roll down my face, and I can’t breathe. I stumble past Harrison, through the room and to the front door. Everything in that house reminds me of him. It’s raining, but I don’t care. That letter was wrong. John can’t be dead. He’s too strong. He’s too smart. He  _ needs _ to be alive. I’m hyperventilating and stumbling through the rain, destination unclear. My dress and hair are soaked, clinging to my skin. I can’t tell what’s rain and what’s tears anymore as they merge on my face. I can’t see through the blur of rain and tears, and a carriage nearly hits me. I don’t care, even as the driver yells after me. Where am I? It doesn’t matter. How long have I been gone? It’s pointless to wonder. The only thing I know, the only thing I feel, is that John is  _ gone _ and I will  _ never see him again _. I collapse on a doorstep, surrounded by mud and puddles. The ground is cold. I am cold. My body feels as if it is a cannonball, heavy and leaden. I sob with my cheek against the ground, undisturbed when I hear a door creak open.  _

_ “Anastasia?!” I don’t know why I recognize the voice. I don’t care. If it is not John’s voice, I do not care.  _

_ “Alexander, come quickly!” The voice is panicked now. Alexander? My brain is foggy, filled with only thoughts of John. I don’t react when I’m lifted from the ground, body limp.  _

_ “She’s freezing!” the voice speaks again. My eyelids feel too heavy to lift, even if I desired to. A scraping sound of furniture against a wooden floor. I’m placed delicately into a chair, and immediately cocooned in blankets. Warmth is emitted from in front of me, and I hear the crackling of a fire.  _

_ “Do not grieve, my Anastasia.” _ _ I feel more tears roll down my face. A hand brushes softly against my cheek. _

_ “John,” I choke out, unable to open my eyes and see him. I want to reach for him. Hold him. _

_ “It will be alright, aimée  _ **_(beloved)_ ** _. I will watch over you,” _ _ he says. The feathery feeling of lips press against my forehead, before they and the hand are gone. I let out a sob. _

_ “Come back...I still need you,” I beg through my tears. Two warm hands take hold of my face, and I can finally lift my eyelids. It isn’t John that stares back at me, but Alexander. His eyes are red and puffy, as if he’s been crying too. They’re glassy, brimming with tears.  _

_ “You know, then?” he asks quietly, dully. I break down into more sobs, leaning against him. He wraps me into his arms, holding me tightly. I’m trembling and cold, heart pained and broken. Gentle fingers thread through my wet hair, compassionate and motherly. Eliza...Of course.  _

_ “I loved him so much. He was my closest confidant, one of my dearest friends. He  _ can’t _ be gone,” I sob into Alexander’s chest. I can feel his warm tears drip onto my neck, and I cling to his shirt.  _

_ “I know,” is all that he manages to choke out. Then we’re sobbing together, Eliza doing her best to comfort us, though we find no solace. She doesn’t understand. No one understands. No one except for us. _

_ The carriage thumps, Alexander’s warm hand laced with mine. We say nothing. It’s dark out, the sky starless. I know not what sort of storm rages within Alexander, but I can feel it crashing and thundering beneath his skin. A similar one thrashes within me, but his hand is an anchor, keeping me from being caught in the storm and lost. I cannot be lost in my sorrow. John doesn't want me to be lost in my sorrow. _

_ “Did you hear him?” I ask the air in a near inaudible whisper. Alexander’s hand squeezes tighter to mine.  _

_ “I did,” he whispers back. I lean against him, my head on his shoulder. We gaze blindly at the shadows dancing on the floor from the lantern hanging on the outside of the carriage.  _

_ “I don’t know if I can live without him,” I whisper, a tear rolling down my face. He takes a shaking breath and leans his head against mine.  _

_ “We have no choice,” he says. I close my eyes, silently welcoming a dark thought. It whispers to me, offering comfort. Lack of pain.  _

_ “Yes we do,” I whisper. He lifts his head, and I feel his gaze on me. I open my eyes and give him a numb stare. _

_ “Jonathan has a gun in his office,” I say. His lips part in surprise at my suggestion, and he stares at me with a heartbroken look. _

_ “Anastasia-” I look away from him, letting out a small sob. _

_ “I know. We can’t.  _ I _ can’t,” I say softly. He leans into me, holding me close. _

_ “Don’t think I don’t want to,” I think I hear him whisper. I don’t respond. Finally, the carriage stops. Alexander holds my hand the entire way out of the carriage and to the front door, the only comfort I have. He knocks on the door, and it takes a few moments before Marie opens the door. She gasps. _

_ “Miss Anastasia! You’re alright!” she says, relief in her voice. I give her a numb stare, before looking away at a blank wall. _

_ “Physically, perhaps,” I mutter. She flinches. _

_ “Of course...I’m sincerely sorry for your loss, miss,” she says softly. I nod absently, and Alexander gives my hand a squeeze. _

_ “I should be going...I have so much work to do,” he says. I turn to look at him, releasing his hand and embracing him instead. I want to say something, make sure he takes care of himself. He will throw himself into his work and stop taking care of himself. If I cannot heed my own advice, however, how can I give it? _

_ “Je t'aime mon cher  _ **_(I love you, my dear)_ ** _ Anastasia,” he whispers, voice catching in his throat. I take a quick breath to hold in a sob. _

_ “Je t'aime, Alexander,” I whisper back. He steps back, out of my embrace, and I watch him disappear into the dark night.  _

_ “Come, miss. I will run you a bath,” Marie says. I slowly nod, turning and walking inside with my head down. _

_ “Thank you, Marie.” _

_ (WARNING WARNING WARNING: ULTRA ANGST I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON FOR WRITING THIS BUT LIKE IT HAPPENED AND STILL HAPPENS BUT AHHHH) _

_ It has been two months, and I was correct in my assumption of Alexander throwing himself into his work. I am not over my grief either, but this way that he is grieving...I worry it will kill him, or ruin his marriage. Perhaps both. I stare blankly at the book in my hands, but I have not absorbed any of the story for the past few pages. I sigh and put the book aside, getting up and smoothing down my skirt. I move around the sofa and go to the window, peering out. The leaves have turned their reds, oranges, and yellows, and are falling from the trees. It’s quite beautiful. I think about John for a moment. He’d like this. He sent me a drawing, once, of a particularly nice tree near his camp in South Carolina. My head snaps around as a scream rings through the house. It came from Lilith’s room. I run from the room, up the stairs.  _

_ “Elise? Elise, what’s wrong?” I call, fear and panic coursing through me. Lilith’s door is open, and I can hear Elise sobbing. I hear Harrison gasp in horror, and Genevieve emerges from the room, tears in her eyes. _

_ “What is wrong? What’s happened?” I demand, tears already brimming my eyes. Genevieve holds me back from the room, shaking her head. I try to push past her. _

_ “Answer, me Genevieve! What’s happened to my daughter?” I cry. She holds me back, tears releasing from her eyes. _

_ “Miss...Lilith has stopped breathing. She’s...She’s gone.” The world crashes down, and I back away, tears silently spilling down my face. _

_ “No…” I whisper. I feel myself shaking. My baby girl...She can’t be… _

_ “Miss…” Genevieve sobs, reaching for me. I swat her hand away. _

_ “Get away from me!” I yell, turning and fleeing back down the stairs. _

_ “Miss Anastasia!” she calls desperately after me. I throw open the front door, not looking back.  _

_ “Miss Anastasia!” Marie calls as I stumble down the path. I hear her try and follow me, but I go faster. That is, until I stumble and collapse. I hear my dress rip and feel my knees scrap against the cobblestones, but it is nothing compared to the pain that is suffocating me, drowning me. I scream with agony before doubling over and burying my face in my hands. I don’t so much hear the footsteps running toward me as much as I sense them. I make no move to acknowledge them.  _

_ “Anastasia! What is wrong, mon cher?” That’s not Marie or Genevieve. It’s...What? I lift my head, still hyperventilating with tears rolling down my face. My gaze is met by the gentle and familiar brown eyes belonging to Lafayette. I don’t question why he’s here, I just accept it. He pulls me to him, wrapping me in his arms and holding me to his chest. I weep into his jacket, not stopping until I have nothing left in me. _

_ “What happened, mon bijou?” he asks softly. I hiccup and sniffle.  _

_ “My Lilith...She’s-” My face screws up and I let out a tearless sob. His hold on me tightens immensely, and he presses a kiss into my hair. There’s still bustle around us, and I feel the pitying gazes of passersby. I try to hide from them in Lafayette’s chest. A moment more passes, before he’s lifting me up and carrying me like his bride. I don’t notice anything outside of this anymore. His heart beats against my ear, and his hands are warm through the fabric of my dress. He’s warm. All my emotions swirl into a blur and I only feel Lafayette. I relax into his embrace and stare up at him, not noticing when we reach my house. Nor do I notice when Marie opens the door and says something before letting Lafayette in. I only come back to my senses, in some meaning of the phrase, after we’ve entered my bedroom, and he’s laying me down on my bed. I stare up at him, eyes half lidded, and lean into his touch as he brushes hair from my face.  _

_ “Lafayette,” I whisper his name and reach to touch his hand, “embrasse moi  _ **_(kiss me)_ ** _...Please.” I feel his movements freeze, and see his eyes widen. I take his wrist with both hands and guide his hand down, holding it against the skin over my heart. God, I must look pathetic. He pulls his hand from my grasp. _

_ “We are both married, mon amie,” he says softly. He only called me “mon amie” while I was under the persona of Anthony. He’s been calling me “mon bijou” for years. He wants to kiss me. Longs to.  _ Craves _ to. He’s holding himself back, I can tell. The pain and loss are beginning to seep back in. _

_ “Please...I’m helpless. Please, Lafayette. S'il vous plaît  _ **_(Please)_ ** _ ,” I beg, tears returning to my eyes. I see him pause, as if actually and truly considering it. He reaches down and lifts my hand, taking it between his and kissing my knuckles. _

_ “I refuse to take advantage of this state you are in, mon Anastasia. You are grieving, and I will not take something because of that,” he says softly. I whine slightly, watching him kneel down beside the bed. I touch his face, and he closes his eyes and lets me. My fingers trail down his neck, until my hand is against his chest. His breathing falters and I can feel his heart beat faster against my palm.  _

_ “S'il vous plaît,” I beg softly, gripping his coat weakly. He opens his eyes, holding my gaze. Full of sadness and longing, his eyes no doubt match mine. I see his resolve breaking before my eyes. I tug slightly on his coat, and he begins to rise to follow my pull. The door creaks open, and Lafayette freezes.  _

_ “Miss Anastasia? Monsieur Lafayette?” Lafayette strands up, taking my hand as it’s forced away from its resting place on his chest. He kisses its knuckles again, before giving me a sympathetic look. _

_ “Je suis tellement désolé, mon bijou  _ **_(I’m so sorry, my jewel)_ ** _ ,” he says softly. Then he releases my hand, taking a step away and looking at Marie.  _

_ “Take care of her, please,” he tells her. She nods and enters the room. He takes one step before I whimper. _

_ “Lafayette,” I call in a broken voice, “Rester  _ **_(Stay)_ ** _?” He pauses, slowly looking over his shoulder at me. Slowly, he returns, leaning over and taking my face between his hands, and my eyes flutter shut in preparation. His lips do not meet mine, however. Instead, I feel them pressed softly and tenderly to my forehead. He begins to pull away, and my hands jump to his coat. I don’t want him to go. And a wave of loss and sorrow washes over me again, and I feel so disgustingly pathetic and broken that I begin to cry again. Heartbroken sobs emerge from my lips, and I feel myself trembling as I clutch tighter to Lafayette’s coat. He presses another kiss to my forehead, before pressing his forehead against mine. He pulls one hand from his coat and holds it tightly, while the other remains on my face, delicately brushing away each tear that escapes. I weep harder, longing to feel something other than this pain and emptiness. My heart hurts terribly.  _

_ “C'est bon. C'est bon  _ **_(It is alright. It is alright)_ ** _ , Anastasia,” he whispers quietly. His words do not placate me, but his voice is soothing and helps me breathe more easily. I hiccup and quiet down some, tears still rolling down my face.  _

_ “Stay?” I ask again softly. Another kiss against my forehead, and he clears away the rest of the tears. _

_ “Rest, mon bijou. I will be downstairs,” he whispers. I hiccup again, slowly allowing my hand to relax its grip on his coat. He runs his fingers tenderly through my hair, and I feel calm for a moment. I don’t think of death, or of my Lilith. I think only of how gently Lafayette holds me, comforts me. It is as though I belong to him, and he belongs to me, just for a moment. My tense body relaxes and I fall into a deep, quiet sleep.  _

_ When I awaken, Lafayette is no longer at my side, and I hear loud, frantic footsteps in the hallway. A thumping noise in a nearby room. A sorrowful shout, emerging through the walls in my husband’s tone. I slowly rise from bed, crossing the room to the door. It opens with a small creak, and I step into the hall. I can hear Jonathan sobbing, and my heart breaks furthermore. I pause in the doorway of the now empty bedroom. Haunting echoes of Lilith’s quiet cries seem to fill the air, cold. I force myself to enter the room, seeing my husband’s slumped form near where Lilith’s crib sat just this morning. I drop to my knees beside him, wrapping my arms around him. I’ve dried myself out of tears, and cried my pain out. Now I am left with nothing but emptiness and numb. There’s an unfillable void in my heart, my soul. Nothing compares to losing a child. This is a void that will never vanish, never fill. It is just a constant pain that I will carry until the moment I breathe my last breath. I kiss my husband’s temple. I can offer nothing to comfort him. There is no comfort for this. _

_ I knock on the door of the Hamilton’s house, glancing around with a lack of interest. A moment later, Eliza answers the door. I pull on a faux smile. They do not know about Lilith. No one outside of the house, all but Lafayette, knows about Lilith. Nor will they ever know.  _

_ “Oh, Anastasia! Do come in,” she says, stepping aside and gesturing for me to enter. I step over the threshold into the house and stand in the hallway.  _

_ “How are you?” she asks politely. I continue to smile. _

_ “I am well. And you?” I reply. She smiles at me as well, taking hold of my wrist and leading me behind her. _

_ “Very well, thank you. I was just making some tea for Alexander, would you like any?” she asks. I hum in consideration for a moment.  _

_ “That would be nice. Thank you, Eliza,” I say. She nods without looking back at me. _

_ “Is Alexander busy at the moment?” I ask, slowly and hesitantly. She scoffs, but looks back at me with a fond smirk. _

_ “Is he not always busy?” she asks. I chuckle slightly, another lie.  _ _   
_ _ “I suppose so, yes,” I agree. She sighs and stops, letting go of my wrist.  _

_ “You know he will stop working if you need to speak to him. I will bring up some tea in a few minutes,” she says. I nod and leave her, walking to Alexander’s study. I knock on the door, not hearing a response. _

_ “Alexander?” I call. There’s a muffled answer on the other side of the door, and I sigh and open it slowly. Alexander looks up at me as I enter. He allows his posture to slump upon realizing that it’s me, and I close the door behind me.  _

_ “Mademoiselle Anastasia,” he says. He sounds polite, but exhausted as well. I move over to his desk. _

_ “Monsieur Alexander,” I reply. I glance at his desk, which is covered by dozens of papers.  _

_ “You will not be satisfied with your work until you get yourself killed by it, will you?” I say, staring at the desk instead of at him. He huffs in amusement. _

_ “Bold of you to assume I will be satisfied with death,” he says. I find myself snorting and looking back at him.  _

_ “I’ve come to offer my services. Without a war to write strategies for, I’m finding myself rather...Idle,” I say, lying about my reasoning. Despite the toll I see it taking on Alexander, I no longer find myself considering throwing oneself into work to be unappealing. It will help me escape from my sorrows. He leans back against the back of his chair and gives me a tired smile.  _

_ “Well, how can I say no to that?” he asks, putting out his hand. His fingers are inkstained, and I’m reminded of the times back in the war. Somehow, those were simpiler times. I put out my hand and shake Alexander’s. I will help him write and form this country. The writing will ease the pain. So I must write, nonstop. _

_ Somehow during my two years of “nonstop” writing, I became pregnant again. I tried to stay calm throughout it, writing constantly with Alexander until Jonathan no longer let me leave the house. I continued to write, even there. Jonathan often brought my work to Alexander, since they were both lawyers and worked near one another. Even so, I still found myself panicking during the birthing process. Now I find myself with a baby girl in my arms, tears in my eyes that are from fear, sorrow, and a small wave of motherly joy. We have no name for her. I push back my tears, holding my baby closer. Suddenly, an idea strikes me. Some will see it as selfish, or cruel, if they ever find out. But I… _

_ “Jonathan...What if we name her Lilith?” My husband looks into my eyes, shocked by my suggestion.  _

_ “I...Anastasia…” _

_ “No one will ever have to know that she died...No one has to know she’s not the first Lilith,” I say, desperately trying to convince him. I’m hysterical. This is a hideous idea. To lie to everyone like this...But I can’t take the pain. This little girl could fill the void. She can be Lilith.  _

_ “Lilith Lauren Derven,” I say, tears streaming down my face. Jonathan stares at me for several long seconds, before caving.  _

_ “Lilith Lauren Derven,” he agrees softly. Lauren...To honor my John.  _

_ (Okay, Anastasia’s big angsty mental breakdown is over...That was hard to write) _

_ “She’s a bit small for a five year old, isn’t she?” Eliza asks, watching our children play on the floor. She isn’t wrong. After all, Lilith is only three. She’s actually the same age as their little girl, Angelica.  _

_ “I was slow to grow as well, my mother said. I’m sure that was simply passed down to her,” I lie. It’s not an unbelievable lie, and she accepts this. I watch Lilith stand up and toddle over to me, showing me the doll that Angelica had given her. I smile at her. _

_ “It’s lovely, dear. Did you thank Angelica?” I ask. She gives me a sweet little grin before looking over her shoulder. _

_ “Thank you, Angie!” she says. She’s adorable. Eliza grins down at her. _

_ “She’s a sweet little thing, isn’t she? Very polite,” she comments. Lilith turns to look at her, beaming. _

_ “Thank you, Miss!” she says. Eliza giggles and taps Lilith's nose with her finger. _

_ “Call me Eliza, darling,” she says. Lilith giggles and covers her nose. _

_ “Lilith, come play!” Angelica calls. Lilth turns and returns to the floor to Angelica’s side. A moment later, Philip prances in, book in hand.  _

_ “I’m finished with my work, Ma!” he announces, skipping over to Eliza. She smiles at him and lifts him into her lap. _

_ “Good boy. I’m proud,” she says, kissing his forehead. Lilith looks up, eyes bright. _

_ “Hi Philip!” she says. He looks down at her, eyes lighting up even more. _

_ “Hi Lilith!” he responds, equally as enthusiastic as her. He notices that she’s playing, and he tilts his head with a pondering frown. _

_ “How do you finish your work so fast?” he asks. She giggles. _

_ “Mama says I’m very smart!” she says pridefully. I smile down at her. _

_ “Yes, mon petit  _ **_(my little one)_ ** _. You are very smart,” I agree. She turns her bright blue eyes on me, grinning at the compliment.  _

_ “Merci, Mama!” she says. I wink at her and she giggles, before going back to playing with Angelica. I look over as I hear Philip start whispering to Eliza. My friend smiles and nods at what her son says, helping him out of her lap. She takes his book and he spins around, curls dancing around his cute little face.  _

_ “Angie, Lilith, we should play in the garden!” he says, walking up to his sister and my daughter. Lilith looks up at him and starts to nod, before stopping and looking at me. _

_ “Go have fun, ma douce  _ **_(my sweet)_ ** _ ,” I say, nodding. She lights up and looks back at Philip, nodding viciously. Angelica nods too, jumping up. Philip holds out his hand to Lilith, and she grins at him and takes his hand. Philip takes Angelica’s hand with his free one, and the three run from the room toward the doors to the back garden.  _

_ “I have a good feeling about those two,” Eliza says, standing up and smoothing her skirt. I follow suit, raising an eyebrow at her as I do. _

_ “Whatever do you mean?” I ask. She grins mischiviously and hooks her arm through mine as we walk after the children.  _

_ “If I raise him properly, I think Philip would make an excellent husband for Lilith,” she says. I giggle and nod. _

_ “I’m certain so, Liza.” _

_ There’s a tug on my skirt, and I turn, still holding my newborn baby boy. He was born only a few hours ago, while Lilith was at school. Lilith looks up at me.  _

_ “Have I not introduced you to your new brother, mon cher?” I ask. She shakes her head and I grin, walking over to the rocking chair in the corner. Lilith follows me and watches as I settle into the chair. She cautiously moves to my side and looks at the baby in my arms.  _

_ “My Lilith, this is your new brother, John Lafayette Derven,” I say, smiling at her. She looks up into my eyes and smiles. _

_ “After your friend, Mama?” she asks. I nod and look down at my son again. _

_ “Yes, my dear. After my friend.” _

_ I watch Lilith hold onto little John’s hand as they walk down the hall. Just as quickly as Lilith had taken John’s hand, Philip is joining them, offering his hand to John too. My son looks up at Philip with confusion, and Lilith giggles and crouches a little, pointing at Philip’s hand and nodding. John stares at her for a moment before smiling and revealing his toothy grin. He takes Philip’s hand and Lilith exchanges a glance with the boy.  _

_ “Liza,” I whisper, leaning toward her. She looks up as I point, and a grin breaks across the face. _

_ “You were right. Raise him properly, and he’ll make a fine husband,” I giggle. She giggles too, and soon we’re both laughing our asses off. We don’t see our children exchange confused glances.  _

_ Lilith, twelve - well, actually ten - now, cradles her new brother carefully in her arms.  _

_ “What do you think of George, Lilith, darling?” I ask, holding John up on my hip. She looks up at me with a large grin.  _

_ “I love him, mother!” she says gleefully. I laugh, looking over as the nursery door opens. Jonathan looks in and smiles.  _

_ “Good evening, my dear,” I say. He enters the room. _

_ “Good evening, darling,” he says, kissing me briefly. John suddenly giggles, and we both look up to see Lilith wrinkling her nose playfully. The two of us laugh and Jonathan moves and picks up George from her arms. She stands up from the rocking chair and I set John down so that the two can play. Jonathan rocks George in his arms, smiling at our sweet baby boy. I adore him. Perhaps it’s not the perfect life, but Jonathan has made it bearable.  _

_ A small book is held out to me. Well, it looks like a book.  _

_ “Have you read this?” the young man asks. I cock an eyebrow and look at the front of it. _

Observations on Certain Documents Contained in NO. V & VI

“The History of the United States For the Year 1796”

In Which the Charge of Speculation Against Alexander Hamilton, Late Secretary of the Treasury is Fully Refuted.

Written By Himself.

_ Alexander wrote this? What charges of speculation?  _

_ “I have not. Thank you,” I say, taking a pamphlet. Lilith looks up at me, a look of concern matching my own on her face.  _

_ “Does this mean we’re going to see the Hamilton’s?” she asks. I nod, and she loops and arm through mine as I start reading. I’m so entrapped in the words, I don’t realize when Lilith gets us into a carriage. Throughout the ride, I grow increasingly angry. _

_ “An affair! The idiot had an affair!” I growl. Lilith jumps are my voice, and I look up at her and soften my look for a moment to give her an apologetic glance. I realize she’s been reading over my shoulder, and I look back down at the pamphlet.  _

_ “Poor Eliza...Poor Philip. Angie, Alex Jr., and James...They must be so upset,” Lilith mutters as I continue to read the pages. Why must the man write so much? It doesn’t matter. I’ve read enough. As the carriage stops, we climb out and I march up to the front door. I pound a fist on it. _

_ “Alexander Hamilton!” I cry angrily. The door opens, but it’s Eliza. I immediately drop my anger and step forward to hug her. She accepts my embrace, though I feel that she does not return it fully. I pull away, holding her hands in mine. _

_ “Where is he?” I ask her gently. She scoffs a little, pained smile coming to her face. _

_ “Where else?” she responds. His study. God damn that man! I squeeze her hands and she allows Lilith and myself into the house.  _

_ “Where’s Philip?” Lilith asks softly. Eliza gives her a small smile and points toward the garden. I watch my daughter go, then release Eliza and storm toward Alexander’s office. Without a second thought, I throw open the door, crossing the room in a few seconds. He looks up from his work as the door crashes open, and I slap the pamphlet down in front of him. _

_ “What the hell did you do?” I snap, gazing at him with a hot, angry glare. He looks down at the pamphlet, then back up at me, and swallows. As he opens his mouth, however, I cut him off. _

_ “This by far the most idiotic thing you have ever done, Alexander! You didn’t merely  _ have _ an affair. No, plenty of men in Congress and the Senate are doing that right now. You decided to write about it and  _ publish _ it! I don’t believe anyone had accused you of such a thing, so I’m certain that you had no incentive to make any comment, let alone write an entire goddamn  _ pamphlet _!” He stands up, not looking me in the eyes. He stares down at the pamphlet.  _

_ “It was an act of political sacrifice,” he says, trying to justify himself. That word alone triggers further rage. _

_ “ _ Sacrifice _?! You have no idea what sacrifice means! What you have sacrificed, Alexander, is your family’s name! Do you have any idea what you have done to your family? Do you have any idea what you have lost?” I scream. He slams his hands on his desk and snaps his eyes up to me. _

_ “You know nothing of loss, Anastasia!” he yells. And from across the desk, I slap him in the face.  _

_ “Do not tell me about loss, Alexander! I know more of loss and sacrifice than you will ever know! When I was Lilith’s age, I lost a lover. You were there when I lost my mother. We grieved John  _ together _ -“ and I’m too angry to think before I scream the next words, “and you know  _ nothing _ of what it’s like to loss a fucking  _ **CHILD** _!” Angry tears roll down my cheeks, and he immediately steps back. His hand lands on his cheek, where I hit him, and he seems to absorb my words. He takes a step forward again and starts rounding the desk to me. _

_ “Anastasia-“ _

_ “No,” I take a step back and hold up a hand, “ _ don’t touch me _.” He stops.  _

_ “Lilith isn’t the same Lilith that John held, is she?” he asks softly. I wipe my eyes, not looking at him. _

_ “Why the fuck would I tell you that? You’d just write a damn pamphlet about it,” I snap. He sighs and takes off his glasses, placing them on the desk and running a hand over his face.  _

_ “Do you know what saddens me the most?” I ask, glaring across the room at a bookcase. He looks at me. “John would be so disappointed in you.” My words are spoken softly, but they’re venomous nonetheless. He flinches, and I can’t help but find it satisfying.  _

_ “You know he was my self control. If he were here I wouldn’t have-“ I take a step forward and stab a finger into his chest. _

_ “Don’t you dare blame his death for  _ your _ mistakes, Alexander. You did this to yourself,” I spit, anger bubbling up again. He squeezes his eyes shut, a pained expression on his face. I scoff, dropping my hand away from his chest and taking a step back. _

_ “Eliza deserves so much better than you,” I say, before turning and walking back toward the door. _

_ “You’re right.” My hand pauses against the door handle, and I look over my shoulder at him. _

_ “Don’t attempt to make me pity you, Hamilton. You know very well that I’m not the type,” I say. I pull the door behind me as I begin to leave the room.  _

_ “I’m disappointed in you, Alexander,” are my parting words to him. Then I close the door behind me and walk through the house. I go to the garden, seeing my daughter with arms around her and her arms around Philip. They’re leaning on each other, holding on. Her eyes are closed, blissfully unaware. I walk closer, and eventually my footsteps draw her eyes open. She lifts her head from Philip’s chest, and Philip sits up too, looking over at me.  _

_ “Hello, Miss Anastasia,” he says softly, a small smile on his face. Smile slightly at him.  _

_ “Hello, Philip,” I respond, equally as quietly. He looks at the ground for a moment, before looking back at me. _

_ “Did you yell at my Pops?” he asks. I chuckle a little. _

_ “I did. How could you tell?” I ask. He smiles a little wider.  _

_ “We could hear you,” he says. I grin softly at him, before sighing. _

_ “Lilith, dear, we should get home to your brothers. I feel awfully terrible for leaving Genevieve with those two for this long,” I say, looking at my daughter. I notice that Philip has slightly intertwined their hands on the bench, but I don’t mention it to them. Lilith nods, and she squeezes Philip’s fingers lightly before she stands up, brushing off her skirt. Philip stands up too, and I put a hand on his shoulder. _

_ “If your family ever needs a place to stay, away from your father, then know that you are always welcome,” I say. He nods, and I smile a little more. I step back, and Lilith embraces Philip. They whisper to each other, and I can imagine my daughter is offering comfort to him. She’s more empathetic than I am. Eventually, the two part.  _

_ “Bye, Pip,” she says softly. And as I look at Philip’s eyes and his small smile, I realize that he’s in love with her. I smile softly as I watch their exchange. _

_ “Bye, Lily,” he says, equally as softly. He lifts her hand and kisses the knuckles, before letting it drop. Lilith walks over to me, smiling softly. She has the same look in her eyes. My daughter is in love. She wraps her arm around mine and we walk back to the house. I notice her look back and wave, but I make no comment. If they already love each other, they will have no problem with us wanting them to get married when they are old enough. As we walk through the house, I catch a glimpse of Eliza in the sitting room.  _

_ “Juste un instant, chérie  _ **_(Just a moment, darling)_ ** _ ,” I mutter, stopping. Lilith follows my gaze and nods, releasing my arm. I walk into the sitting room and sit down next to her. She doesn’t look at me, so I place my hand on top of hers.  _

_ “It wasn’t your fault,” I say, hoping to comfort her. A tear rolls down her cheek, and I lift a hand to wipe it from her cheek.  _

_ “He doesn’t deserve you, Liza,” I say softly, squeezing her hand lightly. She’s silent, and I sigh, looking across the floor, where pages of the pamphlet are scattered.  _

_ “Do you know what would hurt him most?” I ask absently. She looks up at me now.  _

_ “I don’t want to hurt him,” she says. I look at her and smile softly. _

_ “Of course not, Liza, but he deserves it. And it will only hurt him on the emotional level he’s hurt you,” I say. She turns to face me a bit more. _

_ “He wrote you letters, no?”  _

_ “Yes...He did.” _

_ “Burn them.” _

_ “What?” _

_ “His words are what he is most proud of. They are his passion and his voice. The letters are more meaningful than anything you could ever tell the public about him. Burn them.” She sits there for several long moments. Finally, she nods. I hug her tightly, still angry at Alexander for hurting this wonderful woman. My friend. She holds onto me tightly, but she isn’t crying. She’s just quiet. I hold her until she lets go, and I sit back. _

_ “I have to get back to my sons, but come to me if you need me. You and your children are always welcome if you need to get away,” I say. She nods and smiles a little at me, before I give her hands another squeeze and stand up. I walk back to the doorway of the room, before pausing and looking over my shoulder at her. _

_ “You should know,” she looks up at me, “I slapped your husband for you.” She snorts and a small smile comes to her face. _

_ “Thank you, Anastasia,” she says. I smile softly at her. _

_ “Anything for you, Liza.” _

_ Lilith smiles, watching little George bounce up and down while holding her hands. He’s talking very quickly, and I’m not sure if she understands what he’s saying, - I certainly don’t - but her smile never falters. Eventually, George slows down and takes a deep breath. Lilith laughs and picks him up, kissing his forehead as she rests him on her hip.  _

_ “Lil, I love you,” George sighs. She looks down at her brother, looking as if she’s going to melt.  _

_ “I love you too, Georgie,” she says. John walks over, holding a book. He tugs at Lilith’s sleeve.  _

_ “Lil, what’s this word?” he asks, holding up his book and pointing. Lilith looks down at the book, reading the word. _

_ “Scurrilous,” she says, looking at John. John tilts his head sideways as he looks up at her. _

_ “What does that mean?” he asks. She hums, bouncing George on her hip. George giggles.  _

_ “Scurrilous is purposefully giving someone a bad reputation,” Lilith says. John looks back down at the book for a moment before turning to look at me. _

_ “So...Like what Mr. Jefferson wants to do to Mr. Hamilton?” he asks. I nearly spit my tea out, and Jonathan breaks into loud laughter beside me. I choke down my tea and giggle, putting a hand against my chest.  _

_ “Yes, John, that’s an excellent example of the word,” I say, grinning a wide grin. John looks up at Lilith with an admirational smile. _

_ “Thank you, Lil,” he says cheerfully. She giggles and reaches down, ruffling his hair. He pulls his head away from her as he laughs, before walking over to a chair and sitting down, going back to his book. There’s a knock on the door. _

_ “Oh, it’s Eliza and the children!” I say, standing up. Lilith laughs and turns with a graceful swish.  _

_ “I’ll get the door,” she says. I smile and sit back down, watching her leave the room with George still on her hip. I hear the door open. _

_ “Lilith! George! Good evening!” Eliza says chipperly. I hear George giggle. _

_ “Hi Miss Eliza,” he says. There’s collective laughter in the hallway. I look up as Julius walks into the room, smiling at me.  _

_ “Supper is ready, Miss Anastasia,” he says. I smile back at him and stand up.  _

_ “Thank you, Julius. Is the table set?” I ask. He nods, and Jonathan and John both stand up.  _

_ “I will fetch the guests, go on ahead,” I say. My husband smiles and kisses my cheek, and I ruffle John’s hair as he passes me. He giggles. Julius takes my teacup and I step into the hallway, heading toward the chatter. George has been put down and is now chatting wildly with James Hamilton, the fourth oldest child. He’s a year older than George, and they often play together.  _

_ “Everyone, supper is ready,” I call. Lilith and Hamiltons turn their attention on me, and Lilith looks down at George. _

_ “Come, George. Time for supper,” she says, holding out her hand. He grins and takes her hand, and the two of them lead the way down the hall. Angelica and Philip take the hands of their younger siblings and follow behind their mother. I walk beside Eliza, grinning at the baby girl in her arms.  _ _   
_ _ “So, this is baby Eliza?” I ask. She looks at me and smiles, nodding.  _

_ “She’s beautiful. Just like you,” I say, grinning at her. She giggles. We all enter the dining room and settle into chairs. John whines.  _

_ “Why do Lilith and George get to sit next to friends and I have to sit next to Lilith?” he asks, looking up at me and Jonathan. I smile slightly at him. _

_ “Because George is next to me so I can watch him, and Philip needs to help with his little brothers,” I say. He sighs. Philip chuckles. _

_ “If you want to help watch William, then I’ll change seats with you, John,” he offers. John pouts and shakes his head, and Lilith and Philip both giggle into their hands. The conversations flow easily throughout dinner, and there’s a constant flow of laughter. It’s as if the universe has finally given me my happiness back, and I gratefully accept it. This is all I need. _

_ She’s pale and sickly. Where is the joyous, excitable girl whom I love so deeply? Where has  _ my _ Peggy gone? I take her hand, finding her skin clamy. I feel my bottom lip tremble, and she squeezes my hand weakly.  _

_ “Don’t cry, Ana,” she says softly, pale lips curling into a sweet smile. Those three words alone break me. _

_ “You have to stay alive,” I say, voice breaking. She just chuckles a little. _

_ “Using my own words against me?” she says. I laugh through the tears.  _

_ “Of course. They’re what kept me from recklessness during the war,” I say. She smiles at me, eyes shining. There she is. My Peggy.  _

_ “I can’t promise that I’ll live,” she says softly. I frown, squeezing her hand tighter between mine.  _

_ “Peggy, I can’t lose you too,” I whimper, more tears rolling down my cheeks. She shushes me, still smiling softly.  _

_ “You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve lived through tragedy before, this will be no different,” she says. I move to sit on the edge of her bed, wanting to be closer to her. _

_ “I have not lost someone whom I love the way I do you,” I say softly, reaching on hand up to touch her cheek. She leans into my touch, eyes closing as she smiles. _

_ “I love you, Anastasia,” she says. I lean down and kiss her forehead, before lying down beside her. _

_ “I love you too, Peggy, and I won’t leave your side until you get better.” _

_ I wake to the sound of raspy, strangled breathing beside me. Immediately, I sit up, taking her face in my hands. Her eyes are glazed over, but she’s still here. She’s still alive. _

_ “Peggy? Peggy, what’s wrong?” I ask, panicking. She can’t die. I won’t be able to live without her. She smiles, but she isn’t looking at me. She stares at the thin air behind me and reaches a hand out toward it. _

_ “John,” she says. My eyes widen, and I turn, but there’s nothing there. I turn my head back and hold her face between my hands.  _

_ “Peggy. Peggy, look at me. You have to stay alive,” I say, begging. She smiles, staring as if she’s looking through me instead of at me. _

_ “He misses you. He’s been watching over you. I will too,” she says. Tears roll down my cheeks as I shake my head. _

_ “No. No, Peggy, you have to stay with me. Peggy, please,” I beg, voice breaking. She sighs with contentment. _

_ “It will be alright. I need to let go,” she says, voice growing softer. I sob, holding onto her, begging without words. Stay alive, Peggy.  _ Stay alive _! _

_ “I love you, Anastasia,” she whispers. She shuts her eyes, and I watch helplessly as her chest stops moving. I freeze, hands trembling.  _

_ “No…” I whimper into the air. I choke on a sob and bury my face into her neck, crying. She’s gone. My Peggy, my love...She’s gone. _

_ “Am I doing this right?” George asks, looking up from his feet to look at Lilith. She smiles and nods. _

_ “You’re doing great, Georgie,” she says. He grins at her compliment. She’s teaching him to dance, the precious girl. Despite the grief I still feel for Peggy, they make me smile. They have been my sole source of happiness in these past few months. I cherish them. My children. There is a knock on the door, and a few moments later, I hear it open. Lilith giggles, her full attention still on George. I look over as someone appears in the doorway. Philip. He watches Lilith with a soft look on his face and love in his eyes. In these past four years, his love for her has not diminished. If anything, I think it has grown. He notices me looking and blushes, looking away from Lilith before he clears his throat. Lilith turns, and her eyes brighten immensely.  _

_ “Philly!” she cries cheerfully. His blush deepens at her nickname for him, almost completely destroying the view of his freckles. George tugs on Lilith’s hands, trying to bring her attention back to them. _

_ “I want to spin you!” he says. She laughs, nudging him off her feet.  _

_ “You’re a bit short for that, Georgie,” she says, grinning brightly. Philip, without missing a beat, crosses the room and grabs Lilith’s hand, pulling her to him and spinning her around. She shrieks and giggles. George and Philip laugh at her reaction, and I watch the exchange with a soft smile on my face. Lilith is grinning when she stops spinning, her hair a bit of a mess. She leans on Philip, her hands on his chest, and laughs. Philip is holding onto her arms, watching her and grinning. He loves her so much. George tugs on her skirt, and she turns to look at him.  _

_ “Are you going to finish teaching me to dance?” he asks. She leans down and taps his nose, smiling at him. _

_ “As soon as I get back,” she promises. He nods, and she takes his face between her hands and kisses his forehead.  _

_ “I love you, Georgie,” she says. He hugs her.  _

_ “I love you too, Lil,” he says. He eventually releases her and bounds over to me, climbing up on the sofa to sit next to me.  _

_ “Au revoir, John,” Lilith chuckles, straightening and looping her arm through the one Philip has offered her. John looks up from his book, seeing his sister is about to leave. He puts the book down and rushes over, wrapping his arms around her torso and squeezing. _

_ “Au revoir, Lil,” he says. She laughs and pushes his shaggy hair away from his face. He looks up at her with an adoring smile, before letting her go. He gives Philip a sharp, judgemental look, always suspicious of his intentions with Lilith. He told me once that he doesn’t trust Philip not to wisk her away from us. And he loves his sister too much to let that happen. Philip just chuckles though, and the two wave to me before leaving. I’m sure she’ll have some wonderful story of what they do today when she comes home. As she always does. _

_ I hear the door slam, then a sob follows it. I immediately stand and rush to the entry hall. Lilith has collapsed into sobs on the floor, and I quickly move to her and take her into my arms, hoping to comfort her. _

_ “Mon cher, what is wrong?” I ask. She sobs into my shoulder, not answering. I stroke my fingers through her hair soothingly, trying to calm her down.  _

_ “Philip got into a duel and he was shot,” she sobs. My arms tighten around her. No...I don’t want my little girl to have to go through the pain I went through. I don’t want her to lose a friend so dear to her. I don’t want her to lose the boy she loves. I swallow. _

_ “He’s a strong boy. He’ll be just fine,” I say, hoping to quell her panic. She hiccups.  _ _   
_ _ “I thought he was smarter than challenging Eacker to a duel,” she whimpers angrily. I shush her, threading my fingers through her hair.  _

_ “We will all do foolish things for our families and the ones we love,” I say softly. She whimpers.  _

_ “I...I held him. And he didn’t know who I was. He was so scared, but I just told him he’d be okay, but I  _ don’t know _ -” She cuts herself off with another sob. I squeeze her as tightly as I can, even knowing that it will not be enough to comfort her. _

_ “He will be alright, my darling. I know he will.” _

_ I take in a shaking breath, plucking up the courage to face my daughter...Because I was wrong. Philip is dead. I must be the one to tell her. She can’t find out from the public. I enter the sitting room, where she sits in a chair, spilling her poems into a journal.  _

_ “Lilith, darling? Might I have a word with you in the hall?” I ask slowly, glancing at my sons, who are settled on the sofa. George has fallen asleep, and John, much like his namesake, is drawing in his own journal. Lilith looks up at me and nods, setting her quill and journal down and standing up. She smooths down her skirt as she follows me into the hall.  _

_ “What is it, Mother?” she asks, playing mindlessly with the folds of her skirt. I swallow. _

_ “Lilith...I received word about Philip,” I say slowly. Her eyes brighten, and she grips her hands over her heart. _ _   
_ _ “How is he? Is he alright? May I see him?” she asks. I bite my bottom lip, and watch as the action alone makes her wilt. _

_ “Mother?” she asks quietly. I close my eyes for a moment, summoning all the courage I have learned throughout the years. I open my eyes again, looking into hers. _

_ “My dear...Philip is...Philip is gone,” I say. Her eyes widen and she blinks rapidly, trying to keep back tears. _

_ “M-mother, you cannot be serious,” she stutters. Her eyes are horror filled, and her lip is trembling. I shake my head. _

_ “Too serious, my darling. He passed many hours after he left you. You are likely the last person outside of his blood that he saw,” I say, reaching out and taking her hands in mine. I stare at her, watching her crumble from the inside. I know how she is feeling. He was her friend. She loved him. She pulls out of my grip, shaking her head and backing away.  _

_ “They have lied. It is not true!” she says, tears spilling from her eyes. I can see her breaking. Her emotions are overwhelming her. Her pain, her sorrow. It’s a wave sweeping over her when she is unable to swim. It’s drowning her. I reach out to her, knowing she needs to be held. She needs to be comforted. Before I reach her, however, she flees. Perhaps if she went to the stairs, I would not have worried. But she has run toward her father’s office. _

“Jonathan has a gun in his office,” _ my own voice whispers. I run after her. A sorrowful mind is one which does not think straight. She...She cannot. I can’t let her. I’ve already lost so much. I’ve already lost a daughter. I _ cannot lose another _. I reach the office door, closed. I try desperately to turn the knob, but it’s locked. _

_ “Charlotte, get the office key!” I scream. I bang my fists on the door, desperately trying to get to her. I need to get to her. I need to, I need to. _

_ “Lilith!” I cry, still fumbling with the door knob. Harrison’s daughter comes rushing over with the key to the office. She’s quick to get the key in.  _

_ “Lilith, please!” I cry, still trying to get an answer from my daughter. As the lock clicks, a gunshot emerges from the other side of the door. _

_ “Lilith!” I scream, throwing open the door. I rush to her limp form, lying on the ground in front of the window. Blood pools around her, and I see the bullet hole in the side of her head. _

_ “No...No no no no,” I sob, dropping to the floor and taking her into my arms. Her eyes are shut, and she looks so peaceful. My tears drip onto her face, rolling down her cheeks.  _

_ “Mister John, do not-” _

_ “Mother?” John’s voice is small and afraid. I hold Lilith’s lifeless body closer to me, trying to hide her from my sons. I hiccup and squeeze my eyes closed.  _

_ “Mama?” George calls for me, and I let out another sob. There’s movement behind me. _

_ “John, let me see!” George objects. There’s a short silence. _

_ “We need to leave Mama alone, Georgie. Mama doesn’t want you to see,” John says, voice quivering. I cry harder. My little boy is trying so hard to be strong. He shouldn’t have to be strong. I should be able to be strong for him, while he grieves. Several footsteps approach from the hallways. _

_ “Papa…” Charlotte whimpers. There are small, collective gasps. I open my eyes to stare down at my Lilith. She was so beautiful. She didn’t deserve this fate. I press a kiss on her forehead and cry. _

_ The void I once thought that she filled is gapping again, and bigger than before. Without my daughter, I feel empty. _

_ It’s quiet. We buried Lilith and Philip near one another, so that they may rest together. Deep down I know it doesn’t matter, but I still want to honor something like this. I want them to be together in some definition of the word. I wrap my shawl a bit tighter around me, alone in the graveyard. We buried her only a few days after her passing, but Lafayette had written that he wanted to pay his respects to her after Jonathan sent him a letter. He was supposed to arrive yesterday. He did not, and I fear the worst. I clutch a bouquet of - ironically - lilies in my hands, staring down at her headstone. It’s haunting, to see her name carved into the stone. Even after a month. I place the flowers on the dirt before straightening and staring down at them. _

_ “Mon Anastasia?” I look over my shoulder, seeing a familiar - if not a bit older - face. My Lafayette. I smile sadly at him and nod. _

_ “Bonjour mon vieil ami  _ **_(Hello, old friend)_ ** _ ,” I say softly. He walks to my side and puts an arm around my shoulders, kissing my forehead. _

_ “Je souhaite que ce soit dans de meilleures circonstances  _ **_(I wish it was under better circumstances)_ ** _ ,” he mutters, looking down at Lilith’s grave. I shudder, both from the cold and from a wave of grief. Lafayette’s hold on me tightens, and I press my cheek into his chest.  _

_ “You would have loved her,” I whisper. His thumb strokes up and down my arm, and a tear rolls down my cheek.  _

_ “If she was anything like you, I’m sure I would’ve,” he says. I chuckle sadly. _

_ “My eldest son is trying so hard to appear brave for his brother. He thinks that he fools us, when he has no idea that I hear him cry himself to sleep. They loved her so much…” I say, voice breaking at the end. He pulls me to his chest, which I readily bury my face into. He is just as warm as I remember. His embrace is the same. All that has changed in him are the marks and scars of aging. We are both older now. No longer the soldiers we once were. No longer young and vibrant.  _

_ “Mother?” I pull my face out of Lafayette’s chest, and we both move, hearing soft footsteps approach. John walks slowly towards us, a few lilies in one hand. George trails behind him, holding onto his brother’s sleeve and remaining close. I step away from Lafayette and kneel down before my sons. _

_ “What are you two doing out here? You will capture a cold,” I say. George releases John’s sleeve and comes to me, wrapping his arms around my neck and holding on tightly. I put an arm around him, before opening the other for John. I see tears threatening to spill from his eyes, and he quickly joins my embrace. I hold my sons tightly, not ever wanting to let them go. I will not allow what happened to Lilith to happen to them. John pulls away first to wipe his tears away before George can see. George eventually pulls away and looks up at Lafayette. _

_ “Mama, who is he?” he asks softly. I smile and kiss his forehead before I stand up, brushing off my skirt. _

_ “This is mon cher ami  _ **_(my dear friend)_ ** _ , Lafayette. He is from France,” I say. Lafayette steps forward and leans down slightly, holding out his hand to George. _

_ “Bonjour, George Derven,” he says kindly. George looks up at me for a moment, and I give him a small, encouraging nod. George looks back at Lafayette and shakes his hand, before Lafayette offers the same hand to John.  _

_ “Are you trying to take our mother away?” John asks. Lafayette chuckles slightly and shakes his head. _

_ “Non, mon cher garçon  _ **_(No, dear boy)_ ** _ , I have no intention of taking your mother away. It was your father that asked me to come back to see her,” he says, trying to placate my oldest’s suspicions. Though, perhaps they are  _ valid _ suspicions. John still seems a bit unsure, but shakes Lafayette’s hand anyway. He goes around Lafayette, then, and sets the flowers he’s brought on Lilith’s grave.  _

_ “Tu me manques, Lilith. Tu étais ma meilleure amie et ma grande soeur. Je souhaite que tu sois toujours là  _ **_(I miss you, Lilith. You were my best friend and big sister. I wish you were still here)_ ** _ ,” he whispers into the wind. I put a hand on his shoulder, and he leans against my side. I drag my fingers through the ends of his hair, which curl around his neck. George walks around my other side and wraps his arms around my torso. I put my hand against his back, and the three of us just stand. As much as I love Lafayette, my sons come first. My sons will always come first. _

_ The bedroom where Lilith I slept in her infancy has remained empty since her passing. We gave away her bassinet, and couldn’t bear to have any of our children rest in here after her. The door is often locked, and we have long told our children it was simply a closet. I stare out the window, reminded of the times, years ago, when I would rock her to sleep staring at this very view.  _

_ “Mon bijou, what are you doing awake?” I do not turn around at the sound of his voice. I press my hands atop my stomach, remembering carrying my babies all those years ago.  _

_ “I have lost both of my Lilith’s. I do not sleep well anymore...Though, nor have I ever since I served in war,” I say softly, dropping my hands. His footsteps are soft across the floorboards, and he stands at my side. His hand slowly finds mine, tangling our fingers together. His fingers and palm are rough and calloused from war.  _

_ “I am sorry, mon Anastasia. You deserved none of this,” he says softly, squeezing my hand. I lean against him slightly, eyes surely lacking the light they usually hold.  _

_ “The void has only grown wider and deeper. I thought that losing my baby girl once hurt enough...This is much worse,” I whisper. He turns to me and lifts his free hand to my cheek.  _

_ “I will stay, this time. For as long as you need,” he says. I look up at him, reaching up to touch the hand against my cheek. _

_ “Should you not return to Adrienne? You have paid respects, something already unneeded of you. You do not have to stay,” I reply softly. He pulls me closer and leans his forehead against mine.  _

_ “Mon bijou, you know I will do anything for you,” he whispers. I lean into his touch and turn my head, kissing his palm softly. He moves his head back and tilts mine upwards towards him, eyes soft and loving. _

_ “Yes, mon bijou. Even that,” he says softly. My lips part slightly, and his eyes fall to them before he begins leaning down. My eyes flutter closed, and I wait. It is not long before his lips meet mine, so softly and sweetly. Our hands squeeze each other tightly, and I place my free one against his chest. Our lips move in harmony, slotting together perfectly. The only kiss that has ever tasted this sweet was my kiss with Peggy, all that time ago. He cradles my face in his hand, and after what feels like forever, the kiss ends. I open my eyes ever so slightly to look up at him. He holds me in a soft, adorational gaze. I reach up to kiss him again. _

_ “Mama?” I turn as a groggy voice asks for me. George is standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. Lafayette releases me, and I pause only to give him an apologetic look before walking over to my son. _

_ “Mon amour, what are you doing up at this hour?” I ask, kneeling down in front of him. He settles himself in my lap and leans against me. _

_ “I had a bad dream, but you weren’t in your bed,” he says softly. I hold him against me, running my hand up and down his back.  _

_ “Would you like me to bring you back to bed, darling?” I ask. He nods, and I stand up, picking him up with me. I carry him back to his room, slowly laying him down on the bed. I tuck him under the quilts and sit down beside him, running my fingers over his hair.  _

_ “Mama, will you tell me a story?” George asks softly. I smile and nod. _

_ “Of course, love. What story do you want to hear?” I ask, stroking his cheek. He leans his head against my hand. _

_ “Uncle John,” he says softly. I smile more and lie down next to him, facing him. He holds my hand and turns his head on his pillow to look at me. I hum, thinking of a good story.  _

_ “Do you remember how mama told you she fought in the big scary war?” I ask. He nods. “Well, when mama was in the war, she and her friend John fought together very often. Grandpa Washington always said that we made the best team of all the soldiers, but I think he was just being silly.” George giggles. “One day, there was a battle against the redcoats, and mama was in danger. Then, her friend John came riding in on a mighty stallion and swooped her up, saving her life. Do you know what he said when mama reminded him of what he did? ‘Well, of course I saved you. I wasn’t going to let the prized lieutenant down.’ And we laughed in the garden until he let me put flowers into his hair. You’ve never seen such a sight! He looked so silly, George!” My son breaks into giggles as he listens to my story about John, and I grin and kiss his cheek before I sit up. _

_ “Dors, mon bébé. Les cauchemars ne vous dérangeront plus  _ **_(Sleep, my baby. The nightmares will not bother you anymore)_ ** _ ,” I say softly, brushing his hair off his forehead. He smiles at me sleepily, and I watch him close his eyes. _

_ “Bonne nuit  _ **_(Goodnight)_ ** _ , Mama,” he mutters. I kiss his forehead and stand up, turning to leave the room. Lafayette is standing in the doorway, watching. I smile softly and join him, watching him look into the room at where my son is sleeping. He looks down at me and kisses my forehead. _

_ “Tu es une mère merveilleuse  _ **_(You are a wonderful mother)_ ** _ ,” he says. I look over my shoulder at my son, smiling at his form.  _

_ “C'est un fils merveilleux  _ **_(He is a wonderful son)_ ** _.” _

_ I hold tightly to Lafayette’s hand, not knowing if I’ll ever see him again. He spent two weeks away from France, staying constantly at my side. Now he is returning to his home country, and my sons and I are the ones seeing him off.  _

_ “I know you must go home, but I wish you could stay a bit longer,” I say, watching my boys frolick amongst the people bustling about the streets. Lafayette squeezes my hand a little and kisses my temple.  _

_ “I wish that I could stay with you as well,” he says. We’re nearly to the ship, meaning the goodbyes are imminent. I exhale in the cold December air, watching my breath appear in the air.  _

_ “You can’t even stay for Christmas?” I ask weakly, already knowing the answer. He shakes his head wordlessly, and I cast my gaze to the ground. The rest of the walk is silent between us. Finally, we reach the ship, and we stop. _

_ “Look at this cool ship, George!” John cries, pointing at it. George bounces around, looking all around the outside of the ship. I turn to face Lafayette, and he does the same, looking down at me with a grim expression. _

_ “I must get back to my own son, and my wife, mon bijou,” he says softly. I nod, squeezing his hand.  _

_ “Je souhaite juste que je puisse t'embrasser au revoir  _ **_(I just wish that I could kiss you goodbye)_ ** _ ,” I whisper. His eyes flicker to my lips, before he looks over at my sons.  _

_ “Moi aussi je souhaite ça  _ **_(I, too, wish for that)_ ** _ ,” he says, looking back at me and squeezing my hand. I lean into him, and he embraces me.  _

_ “You know that I love my wife, but you...You, mon bijou…” He trails off, but I nod. _

_ “Oui, mon cher. I know. I feel the same,” I say, pressing my forehead against his chest. He kisses the top of my head, holding me. I exhale and stand with him, hands against his chest.  _

_ “Mother, I know I should not disturb you, but George is getting cold,” John says, sounding genuinely apologetic. Over the past two weeks, he’s warmed up to Lafayette. He even learned a bit more French. It reminds me of Lilith. I pull back from Lafayette’s chest to look at my son, offering him a kind smile.  _

_ “Do not feel badly, my dear John. I do not want your brother, nor you, to become ill. Give me one more minute and then we will go home,” I say. He nods and steps back again, going to collect George. I look back at Lafayette. _

_ “You do not think this is the last time we will see each other, do you?” I ask. He smiles gently at me before kissing my forehead. _

_ “I will make sure it is not, mon bijou,” he says softly. I smile a little too, feeling my eyes filled with tears.  _

_ “Do not forget your duties to write to me,” I tease. He chuckles and pulls back slightly, holding my face.  _

_ “Dear God, if you will stop looking at my mother with mushy love eyes, you may kiss her and I won’t tell my father!” John groans. Lafayette and I chuckle, but he doesn’t waste the opportunity. He swoops down, and a short, sweet kiss is left on my lips. I cherish it, trying to take it to memory so that may always remember it. Then he’s pulling away. We gaze at each other for another moment, eyes exchanging thoughts and feelings left without words, and then he’s letting me go.  _

_ “Au revoir, mon Anastasia,” he says, voice full of love and adoration. I smile sadly at him. _

_ “Au revoir, mon Lafayette,” I reply. John and George bound up to him. George hugs around his waist, and John waits to shake his hand.  _

_ “Prends soin de ta mère pour moi  _ **_(Take care of your mother for me)_ ** _ , John Derven,” Lafayette says, shaking my oldest’s hand. John grins and nods.  _

_ “Oui monsieur,” he says, giving a firm handshake. Then my sons are at my side, and we watch Lafayette board his ship. He turns and lifts his hand in a wave, and I lift mine as well. I hold his gaze from afar, watching him visibly sigh before he disappears onto the boat.  _

_ “Alright, boys. We can go home now,” I say softly, tearing my gaze away from the ship. George takes my hand. _

_ “You don’t want to watch it sail away, Mama?” he asks. I look down at him and smile sadly. _

_ “I think that would hurt a bit too much, dear,” I reply softly. He nods, then pulls my hand in the direction of home. John follows at my side, and I glance over my shoulder only once, wishing that my love could stay.  _

_ There is frantic chatter in the streets, saying things I can’t quite hear. I keep picking up fragments, but it isn’t making sense. I tap the shoulder of a woman, who turns to face me. _

_ “Pardon, but what’s happened to have everyone so upset?” I ask politely. She pulls her young daughter closer to her, covering her ears. _

_ “Mr. Hamilton and Burr got into a duel,” she says, causing my eyes to widen, “Burr shot Hamilton.” I take a step back, not believing it. Aaron...What did you do? I feel anger toward him rising in my chest, my heartrate picking up. My fists clench up and I thank the woman, before turning on my heel and hurrying in the opposite direction. I know  _ exactly _ where Burr is hiding after this. The pub is less busy than it was back in the revolutionary days, though that could be the added fact that it’s early morning and most of New York feels no need to drink this early. Burr is hunched over a drink at the bar, and I cross the room swiftly. I draw the eyes of the few other patrons and the bartender, but I pay them no mind.  _

_ “Aaron,” I growl through my teeth. He turns his head, and his eyes widen when they meet mine. _

_ “Anasta-” I cut him off with a harsh punch to his left cheek. The punch knocks him off the barstool and he hits the floor.  _

_ “What were you  _ thinking _?!” I snap, watching him slowly push himself into a sitting position, rubbing his cheek. He doesn’t look at me. _

_ “I  _ wasn’t _ ,” he says. If it weren’t for the already stinging pain in my hand, I’d punch him again. I growl and turn, slamming my hands on the bar.  _

_ “You are a man with no opinions. You are a man who follows orders and waits quietly for the downfall of others.” I snap my body around again to look at him. “Why the  _ hell _ would you throw away everything you know and duel with him?” He’s curled up rather pathetically on the floor as I’ve continued to yell at him, and he has his face in his hands. _

_ “I don’t know,” he chokes out. A throat clears behind me, and I snap my head around. _

_ “I, uh, hate to disturb you, Miss, but could you take your business outside?” the bartender requests. I huff and nod, going to Burr and yanking him up by the arm. I drag him out and around the side of the bar, where he leans against the wall and slides down.  _

_ “I’m sorry,” he whimpers. I dig my fingers into my hair, nails scraping against my scalp.  _

_ “He could die, Aaron. You  _ shot _ him,” I say, my anger spilling and being replaced by fear. He nods into his hands.  _

_ “I know. I want to take it back. I thought he’d shoot. I couldn’t orphan my daughter. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mutters rapidly. His words spill from him, and I can see him shaking. Damn, I am beginning to pity him.  _

_ “I’m a monster.” My breath catches, and I go to my knees next to him. _

_ “Chérie, non  _ **_(Honey, no)_ ** _ ,” I say softly, tears stinging my eyes. I reach for him, and he tries to push my hands away. I am insistent and stubborn, and he eventually lifts his head. His eyes are puffy and red, and they shine with tears and regret. He looks scared.  _

_ “Mon amie, you are not a monster,” I say firmly. He casts his eyes down, not looking convinced.  _

_ “The people will say differently,” he mutters. I smack his cheek lightly to bring his attention back up to me.  _

_ “Then let them say. They have the freedom of speech, but that does not have to have any meaning to you. What should matter is what  _ I _ say, and I say that you  _ are not a monster _ ,” I say, wiping tears off his cheeks. He closes his eyes, and I watch him practically wilt. All confidence and charisma are washed away, leaving his emotions raw and visible. This is a side of him that only I and the Theodosias have seen.  _

_ “You should go. Be with him. Make him live. I...I won’t be able to live with myself if he doesn’t,” he says softly, his hands clenched in fists over the fabric of my skirt. I frown and drop my hands to hold his. _

_ “Vous ne devriez pas être seul, mon ami. Je tiens à toi aussi. Je lui fais confiance pour vivre  _ **_(You should not be alone, my friend. I care about you, too. I trust him to live)_ ** _ ,” I say. He doesn’t open his eyes. _

_ “You know I don’t speak French,” he says. I wrap my arms around him and pull his head into my shoulder.  _

_ “Oui,” I agree. He sits there in my arms for what feels like hours, and what, perhaps,  _ is _ hours. There is no taking back his mistake, but I sense that Alexander would forgive him, and as will I.  _

_ Jonathan and my sons have already gone ahead. I am waiting at the gates for Aaron. He promised to come to the funeral with me. I told him that Jonathan and I would make sure he was safe. I look around, watching the light rain fall against the cobblestones. Then I see him, weaving his way through the crowds with his head down. As he grows closer, I smile softly and hold out my hand to him. He takes it and I squeeze his fingers, before leading him into the church cemetary. He keeps his head down the whole way, but most everyone recognizes him. Some glare at his bowed head, and others see me with him and raise a confused eyebrow. I always have the same reaction: Harsh, protective glare. I will never defend his actions, and neither will he, but he does not deserve to be treated as a villain or a monster. I lead Burr to my family, and we form a barrier around him. Even George helps.  _

_ “I’m going to speak with Eliza, alright?” I say softly, still holding Aaron’s hand tightly. He glances at me and nods, and I release his hand. As I step away, my sons immediately draw closer to him in a protective manner. I’ve taught them well. I make my way over to Angelica and Eliza, and immediately catch their attention. _

_ “Why did you bring  _ him _ here?” Angelica asks, motioning to Aaron with a nod. She’s unhappy, and I can tell. I don’t blame her, but I won’t let her act hostile toward him. Not today.  _

_ “He has remorse, Angelica. I’m not asking you to forgive him, just to act civil. It isn’t about him, nor is it about you. We are here for Eliza and her children, to honor Alexander,” I say calmly. She does not flinch at my words, or under my gaze. She is one of the few that can do so. However, she sighs and nods. _

_ “Thank you for coming, Anastasia,” Eliza says. I smile slightly and take her hands between mine. _

_ “Of course, Liza. I will always be here for you,” I say. She nods, and I continue to hold her hands until the service is about to start, when I finally return to my family and Aaron.  _

_ So far, my plan has worked. We are leaving the cemetary, and everyone has left Aaron alone. I pause only momentarily to say my goodbyes to Eliza and Angelica, leaving Aaron in the capable hands of my husband and sons.  _

_ “ _ Burr _!” Might I retract my statement? I turn just in time to see an older, but slightly familiar man storming toward Aaron, clearly intent on getting to him. Aaron stops in his tracks, and I immediately run to get between him and the angry man.  _

_ “You killed him, you bastard!” the man roars. I step between him and throw my arms out, using myself as a human shield for my friend.  _

_ “Not another step,” I snap, narrowing my gaze on the man. He pauses when he sees me, eyes scanning over my face. They glow with recognition.  _

_ “Anastasia Reama?” he asks. My gaze does not soften. _

_ “It’s Derven, now,” I correct. Seeing him up close, he does look very familiar. For whatever reason, I expect to see him throwing flower petals… _

_ “Hercules Mulligan?” I ask slowly, raising an eyebrow. He nods, and I drop my arms.  _

_ “Go with Jonathan, Aaron,” I say, not looking over my shoulder at him. Hercules immediately tries to go after him, but I hold up a hand and give him a sharp look.  _

_ “I see the Lieutenant that Alexander talked so highly of, now,” he says, smirking slightly. I cross my arms, giving him a look, and he chuckles again.  _

_ “A pleasure to meet you again, Mrs. Derven,” he says, holding out his hand. I sigh and smile slightly, lifting one of my hands. I watch him take it and kiss my knuckles, something which has not happened to me in many years. When he releases my hand, I take a step back and beckon him to follow me. I turn and start walking, hearing him following me.  _

_ “If I remember correctly, you’re a tailor, oui?” I ask. He chuckles. _

_ “I’d forgotten that you were French. Yes, I am,” he replies. I hum and listen as he proceeds to tell me about his business. I learn where it is, what his specialties are, and I’m even offered a free dress or something for my husband or sons. I tell him I’ll think about it. The walk is quiet for a bit longer, before he asks the question I’ve been waiting for him to ask. _

_ “Why did you protect Burr?” I pause in the street and turn to look at him.  _

_ “You act as if you have never made a mistake. Perhaps his was larger than most, but he recognizes it as a mistake. If he could go back, he wouldn’t shoot. He feels guilt and remorse. He cared about Alexander, in his own way. Perhaps it was not to the same level as Alexander and I, or Alexander and you, but he still considered him a friend. It is one thing to make a mistake. It is another to make a mistake that you will own and feel remorse for,” I say. He stares at me for a moment, before chuckling and shaking his head. _

_ “You speak like Alexander,” he says. I smile a little at that.  _

_ “Alexander himself said I was just a better version of him in a corset,” I say fondly. We both chuckle at that. I give him a polite smile.  _

_ “I should be getting back to my family, but it was nice to see you again, Hercules,” I say, curtseying slightly. He nods and lifts my hand again, kissing the knuckles briefly.  _

_ “It was nice to see you too, Anastasia. Please, come by if you ever need anything,” he says. I nod, and we bid each other a farewell. I look up at the sky for a moment, pondering if Alexander would accept that I’ve forgiven Aaron. There’s a faint tingling on my shoulder, and I look over. There’s nothing there, not visibly, but I smile softly. Yes. Yes, I think he would accept it. I think that he  _ has _. _

_ George, Aaron and I are walking about the city, just to walk without purpose. I know that me being here, and my son being here, makes him feel somewhat more comfortable. Have men still attempted to attack him? Oui, but I am always there to push them away and let fly a remark that sends them away. Suddenly, George pulls on my arm, trying to show me something. I pause, letting Aaron walk ahead, and turn my head to look where George is pointing. It’s a bakery, with a window full of pastries and sweets. I smile at him.  _

_ “On the way back, oui?” I say. He pouts for a moment, but nods. I smile at him.  _

_ “Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?” a voice asks. I look up. Alexander Jr. is standing behind Burr, who has paused in the street.  _

_ “That depends...Who’s asking?” Aaron asks. Alexander pulls a gun from somewhere, and I hear it click. I see the tears rolling down his face, but he looks angry. Aaron turns slightly and sees the boy aiming the gun at his head. He looks shocked and saddened.  _

_ “You should know,  _ sir _ , I’m Alexander Hamilton  _ Junior _ ,” the boy says. I gasp slightly, and I move quickly.  _

_ “Alexander!” I say. He turns to look at me, the gun turning with him. I freeze and pull George behind me, shielding him. Alexander’s eyes immediately widen and lose their anger.  _

_ “Aunt Anastasia?” he asks softly. He glances down at where I’m sure George is peering out from behind me and swallows, before he turns the gun back on Aaron.  _

_ “He killed my father!” he says angrily, still crying. I take more steps, before I place myself between the end of the gun and Aaron. Alexander’s eyes widen again. _

_ “What are you-” _

_ “I know he is, darling, but I cannot let you kill him,” I say softly. His hands are shaking on the gun, and I can tell he’s distraught.  _

_ “I  _ have _ to. To avenge my father. He  _ killed _ my father!” he sobs. I let go of George’s hand and take a step toward Alexander, but he steps back.  _

_ “Move, please! I have to kill him!” he cries. He’s trembling, shaking. I take another step and push the gun down slowly, where the end is aimed at my abdomen.  _

_ “Give me the gun, Alexander,” I say softly. He sobs and lets me take the gun from his hands. I watch the boy collapse to his knees, and I slowly move to my knees with him. I put the gun aside and take the boy into my arms. He cries until there is nothing left in him, and then he just simply lets out dry sobs. The boy looks so much like his father that...It almost feels as if I’m holding my friend instead of his son. I run my fingers through the long, dark hair. Soon, he is merely hiccuping into my shoulder. I turn my head to look up at Aaron, who has crouched down and listening to George talk to him quietly.  _

_ “Mon amie?” I ask quietly. Aaron looks to me.  _

_ “Would you get something for George at the bakery and bring him home for me?” I ask softly. He smiles a bit and nods, looking down at George again and saying something. He ruffles my son’s hair and then George grabs his wrist and pulls him towards the bakery. I look back at the boy I’m holding, just a year younger than Philip had been when he died.  _

_ “Let me bring you home, alright? I do not want you to be left alone in this state,” I say softly. He nods against my shoulder, and I pick up the gun before I stand and help him up. I keep a hand against his back as we walk, and he keeps his head down. He feels shame, I realize, for not killing Aaron. I do not give him the gun back. It is too much of a familiar opportunity. I walk him home, and he goes in without saying goodbye or asking for the gun back. He does not close the door either, so I see the moment that Eliza appears in the hall to check on him. She sees me and immediately comes over.  _

_ “He came to kill Burr,” I say softly, showing her the gun. She glances in the direction which her son went, then looks back at me. _

_ “Did you stop him, then?” she asks. I nod, and slowly hold out the gun to her. She takes it after a moment, clearly a foreign object in her hands.  _

_ “I...Couldn’t let him come home alone. Especially not with a gun,” I say. Her eyes sparkle with understanding as she nods. _

_ “Thank you, Anastasia,” she says. I smile softly as I nod.  _

_ “You’ve already lost your husband and a son. I will not let you lose another.” _

_ I rub Jonathan’s back as he coughs into a handkerchief. He pulls it away from his face, and it’s spotted with scarlet red blood. I hand him a glass of water, which he accepts and takes a sip from. The doctor comes in after another minute, and Jonathan and I both look up at him.  _

_ “We’ve come to a conclusion, Mr. and Mrs. Derven,” he says. I straighten up, squeezing my husband’s shoulder.  _

_ “You have a disease called tuberculosis. There is no cure for it,” he says. I put a hand over my mouth in horror.  _

_ “No…” I whisper. My Jonathan cannot die… _

_ “Will I live, doctor?” he wheezes. The doctor shakes his head. _

_ “I’m afraid it’s unlikely, sir,” he says. Jonathan nods, lifting a hand to rest against mine on his shoulder. _

_ “How long do I have left?” he asks. The doctor shakes his head. _

_ “I’m not sure. Only a few months, at the most,” he says. I feel tears in my eyes, and I kneel down beside him, holding his hand.  _

_ “You cannot die, Jonathan,” I say, trying to hold my tears back. I cannot cry. He is not dead yet. He reaches and touches my cheek, tucking a curled lock of my hair behind my ear. _

_ “Tout ira bien, chère épouse  _ **_(It will be alright, dear wife)_ ** _ ,” he says softly. Before I can break into tears, I stand up and run from the room. I can’t lose my husband. I simply  _ can’t _. _

_ John, George, and I all crowd around the bed, teary eyed.  _

_ “We will make you proud, father. I promise,” George says, voice choked up. John puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder, though he is holding himself together just as poorly as George. I hold tightly to my husband’s hand, tears rolling down my cheeks. Jonathan smiles up at John.  _

_ “Have you come up with a name for your child yet, son?” he asks. John nods.  _

_ “Yes, father. If it is a girl, we will name her Lily, after Lilith, and if it is a boy, Edwin,” he says, trying desperately to keep his voice from breaking. Jonathan chuckles, before turning his head away and coughing roughly and painfully into his handkerchief. He turns back when he is done, and smiles as if nothing happened. _

_ “You’ve chosen my middle name, have you?” he asks teasingly. John smiles a little and nods. Jonathan moves his gaze to George.  _

_ “You’ll marry that lovely Estelle girl, won’t you, George? She’ll make a good wife,” he says in a wheezing breath. George chuckles through tears. _

_ “Yes, father, I will. I promise,” he says. Jonathan nods, giving his sons a proud gaze before finally turning his head to look at me. _

_ “Ma femme  _ **_(My wife)_ ** _ ,” he says softly, “do not be afraid to move on after me. You should marry again, when I am gone.” I shake my head, smiling sadly at him. _

_ “No, Jonathan. You are the only husband I will ever need. Our sons will take care of me. I do not need another husband,” I say. He chuckles slightly, with the little air he has. Sweat beads on his forehead.  _

_ “And what about monsieur Lafayette?” he asks, sounding almost playful. I smile a little, tears still rolling down my face.  _

_ “Lafayette is in France, my dear,” I say. He smiles a bit wider. _

_ “Unlikely. I sent him a letter,” he says. My laugh is short and sad.  _

_ “Of course you did,” I say, kissing his knuckles. He wipes away the tears on my cheek and smiles weakly at me.  _

_ “Mon coeur, mon âme  _ **_(My heart, my soul)_ ** _ , do not grieve when I am gone. You are not the type of woman to mourn over something as frivolous as a man-” _

_ “You are not merely a man. You are my  _ husband _ ,” I say, interrupting his thought. He keeps his smile.  _

_ “You have been the best wife, mon coeur. You have given me more happiness than I thought possible. Thank you, my dear,” he says. I grasp tighter to his hand, silently begging God to let him live.  _

_ “I love you, my dear Jonathan,” I choke out. There is a weak squeeze on my hand. _

_ “And I you, Anastasia.” I watch the light leave his eyes, and watch his lips part in his final breath. Then he goes still, and his hand is limp in mine.  _

_ “Jonathan?” I whisper desperately. There is no answer, and I let out a small, quiet cry and squeeze his hand. My sons immediately move to me, wrapping their arms around me and burying their faces into my shoulders.  _

_ “Au revoir, mon mari bien-aimé  _ **_(Goodbye, my beloved husband)_ ** _ ,” I sob quietly into the air.  _

_ I stare down at the ring on my finger, unable to bring myself to take it off.  _

_ “Miss?” I look up from the ring, toward the door. Charlotte is standing there, watching me with sad eyes.  _

_ “Mister Lafayette is here,” she says softly. I nod and stand from my desk, unable to work anyway. I follow her out of the office that my husband and I had shared. Lafayette is waiting for me in the sitting room. When I see him, I feel no spark of joy or relief. I am simply numb. Still, I welcome his embrace, pressing my face into his chest.  _

_ “Je suis vraiment désolé  _ **_(I am so sorry)_ ** _ , Anastasia,” he mutters. I say nothing, only allow myself to be held.  _

_ “Je vais rester avec toi, je promets  _ **_(I will stay with you, I promise)_ ** _ ,” he mutters. That is what Jonathan wanted. That was his last wish. Some part of me is grateful, and another part wishes that Lafayette were not here at all.  _

_ I hold tightly to Eliza’s hand, both of us staring down. Angelica’s name is carved into the stone.  _ Mother. Wife. Sister. Friend. _ She is gone. A tear drops from my cheek into the grass. I have no sisters, nor brothers. The Schuylers took me in as a sister. I love them all dearly. And now, I have only Eliza. We are both widows now, and we have lost friends and sisters. A child.  _

_ “I will stay at your side, I promise,” I say softly. She nods slightly.  _

_ “And I at yours.” _

_ To say that the last two years have been peaceful would be...Accurate. John has a three year old daughter, Lily, and a one year old daughter, Lauren. Both his wife, Vivian, and George’s wife, Estelle, are pregnant. Lafayette lives with me, and my sons and their families visit me every weekend. Lafayette and I are not married, despite Jonathan’s final wish. No, we both agreed that we wanted to honor our previous vows and only have joined in matrimony with our former spouses. Married no, but we love each other deeply, and he has acted as the grandfather to my sons’ children.  _

_ “Miss Anastasia, Mister Lafayette, would you care for some tea?” Julius asks as he enters the sitting room. I smile and shake my head. _

_ “I’m well without it, Julius, but thank you,” I say politely. Lafayette looks up from the book he’s reading, smiling kindly at Julius.  _

_ “I’m fine as well. Je vous remercie  _ **_(Thank you)_ ** _ , Julius,” he says. Julius smiles at us both and nods, turning and walking back out. Just as I turn to Lafayette to speak, there’s a joyous, high pitched shriek and small, quick footsteps come down the hall. _

_ “Grand-mère  _ **_(Grandma)_ ** _! Julius’s mama said she...She’s going to make me pastries!” Lily cries joyfully as she enters the room. She rushes over and climbs into my lap, and I chuckle. _

_ “Oh did she? I do hope that you plan on sharing those treats with your dear grand-mère, ma petite fleur  _ **_(my little flower)_ ** _ ,” I say. Julius’s mother, Cassandra, has been the cook here since John was born. Her specialty is pastries. Estelle and Vivian walk in, with little Lauren holding tightly to her mother’s hand.  _

_ “She’s very excited for her pastries,” I comment, looking up at my daughters-in-law. They both giggle and settle into chairs. Lauren sits at her mother’s feet, playing with the hem of her dress. Lily climbs over into Lafayette’s lap, and he puts his book down and starts whispering to her with a grin on his face. She giggles, and I smile softly at the exchange. I love him. There’s a loud banging noise in the hall, startling all of us out of the pleasantness of the moment. It sounded as if the front door had been knocked from its hinges. I quickly take Lily back from Lafayette, who jumps to his feet to put himself between us and the entrance to the room.  _

_ “Mister John?!” Marie shouts. There’s stumbling, and suddenly John falls to his knees at the entrance of the sitting room. There’s blood on his clothes.  _

_ “John?!” I cry, standing immediately and rushing to him. Vivian follows me, both of us kneeling down before John.  _

_ “Papa?” Lily asks softly, fear lacing her voice. I reach out, brushing the hair out of my son’s face. _

_ “John, what’s wrong? What happened? Whose blood is this?” I ask, frantic and afraid. John continues to make noises, trying to speak. He’s unable to.  _

_ “Honey, take a breath. Tell me what happened,” Vivian says, her voice fearful but unwavering. John lets out a sob. _

_ “He’s dead,” is all he manages to say. I don’t understand.  _

_ “Who’s ‘he,’ darling?” Vivian asks. John wraps his arms around himself, holding as if he has someone in his arms. _

_ “George,” he sobs, “she shot him.” I feel as if I’ve been stabbed. I can’t breathe. No...Not my little boy. My baby.  _

_ “I was supposed to protect him. It should have been me,” he whimpers, still crying. Vivian holds him, muttering things to him. I let go of Lily, who crawls over to John and hugs him. There are more sobs behind me. Oh, Estelle. I fight to get to my feet, and I turn. Lafayette is sitting with her on the floor, and she’s crying. Tears of my own flow down my cheeks, but I go to her and wrap my arms around her. I can offer no comfort or solacy. She has lost a husband. John has lost a brother. I have lost a son.  _

_ The sitting room is quiet. I hold Estelle, and Vivian holds John. Cassandra is watching over my granddaughters. Lafayette’s hand rubs circles on my back. It doesn’t make me feel any better, but it’s still nice. I run my fingers through her hair, not knowing what else to do.  _

_ “Miss Vivian?” A few of us look up. Cassandra is standing in the doorway, along with Marie.  _

_ “Your daughters would like for you to put them to bed,” Marie says softly. Vivian, looks back at John, who nods ever so slightly. She rises and leaves. Estelle gets up after a moment, crossing the room and sitting beside him. She leans on him and he takes her hand. _

_ “I’m so sorry,” I hear him whisper to her. She shakes her head, staring at the floor.  _

_ “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says weakly. They sit like that for a long time, before Estelle stands up again. _

_ “Would it be alright if I stayed the night?” she asks weakly. I smile slightly and nod.  _

_ “Of course, dear,” I say. She smiles sadly back at me, and leaves the sitting room. Her footsteps are soft on the stairs. A moment later, Vivian returns and settles herself next to my son. My only son now. I feel myself tear up again, and I press my face into my hands. Lafayette wraps his arms around me, and I lean into his chest. I sit there for a long time - or perhaps it merely feels like a long time - simply crying. I am quiet, not wanting my son to hear me.  _

_ “You should go up to bed, my love,” John mutters suddenly. I find myself looking up, to see my son. His wife whispers something to him, and he whispers something back. After a few moments, she kisses his cheek, and he kisses her knuckles. She gets up after that, leaving the sitting room and going upstairs to bed. I turn to Lafayette, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. _

_ “You may go up to bed, mon bien-aimé  _ **_(my beloved)_ ** _. I will stay with him,” I whisper. He slowly nods and kisses me briefly, before standing up and leaving. I listen to his retreating footsteps, then turn my attention to John. I stand and cross the room to him, sitting down beside him. He’s quiet for a long moment, before he begins to shake.  _

_ “I’m sorry, mother. I failed you, and I failed father, I failed  _ George _ -” I pull him into my arms and he silences himself with a quiet sob. I hold him tighter.  _

_ “Vous n'avez failli à personne, mon bébé. Je sais qu'il ne voudrait pas que tu te blâmes  _ **_(You have failed no one, my baby. I know he would not want you to blame yourself)_ ** _ ,” I say softly. Seeing my son so distraught is painful, and I begin to rock him slightly, as I did when he was young. He clings to my arms, still crying. And I hold him, because I can do nothing else. I cannot fix the survival guilt you feel when you see someone die beside you. I cannot take away the feeling that you are left with, that it should have been you. I have felt it many times, and I still haven’t any idea of how to cure it. I sit with him, rocking him back and forth, until he falls asleep. I stay there and hold him, wanting nothing more than for him to wake up and not have to grieve.  _

_ “Grand-mère?” a small, tired voice asks. I look toward the door, and Lily is standing there. She slowly walks in until she reaches me, then snuggles up beside me on the other side from her father. _

_ “How’s papa?” she asks softly. I briefly let go of my son with one arm to hold her hand.  _

_ “Very sad, sweetheart,” I tell her. She nods, looking up at her sleeping father.  _

_ “I miss Uncle George too,” she whispers. I nod, brushing her hair away from her face.  _

_ “I know, love,” I say. I know I can’t let her stay up like this, so I gently lay John down on the sofa and pick Lily up from beside me.  _

_ “Let’s get you back to bed,” I say softly. Such words would usually cause her to whine and pout. She is silent. I carry her upstairs and to the spare room that she shares with her sister when they visit. I place her back in bed and sit next to her, the moon shining in through the window.  _

_ “Is papa going to be alright?” Lily asks quietly. I push her hair behind her ear.  _

_ “With time, darling,” I reply simply. She holds my hand tightly. _

_ “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep, grand-mère?” she asks. I nod and lie down next to her, pulling her to my chest. I’m reminded of all the times I laid with Lilith and George when they were Lily’s age. Whether it be fear from a storm or a nightmare, I held them often. I held John too. But I can still hold John. Lilith and George...I feel tears roll down my cheeks, but I hold in my cries. I do not want to worry Lily. I feel her fall asleep in my arms, and I eventually cry myself to sleep as well.  _

_ A horrified, pained, sorrowful scream. I awaken to this noise in my ears. I shoot up, eyes flashing wildly around the room.  _

_ “Grand-mère, who was that?” Lily asks, sounding fearful. I squeeze her arms. _

_ “I’m not sure. Stay here with your sister. Grand-mère will be right back,” I say softly. She nods and huddles against the headboard as I stand up and go to the door. The hallway is dark, but I can see the silhouette in front of Lilith II’s door. Which is open. The silhouette is crying. I realize it’s Vivian. My blood runs cold as I rush to her side. I can’t say anything before she doubles over and sobs. I look into the room, and swear that my heart stops. A rope from the ceiling. John. He’s...He’s hung himself.  _

_ I’m rereading the letter he wrote me, a letter not unlike his sister’s. He’s never written as eloquently as she did, except in this. Her final poem was frantic and drawn by only the need to end it. John has tried to build with his words. Palaces and cathedrals holding his guilt, fear, sorrow, and pain. I’m rereading the letter he wrote me, searching in every line...For what? _

Mother,

I ask for forgiveness for what I am about to do. You have taken so much pain already, with the loss of father, and George. But what I am about to do is especially awful, and selfish. For, you have already gone through this before. I should not follow in my sister’s fate, but every emotion drives me to this conclusion. 

I failed my little brother. When Lilith passed, I promised myself that I would protect him, as she had done for me. I’ve broken that promise, mother. I broke my promise to her constant soul, to myself, and to him. Even now, I can almost hear her, begging me not to do this. I cannot listen to her. Maybe she will forgive me when I am with her, and with George again. I wish it had not come to this, mother. I do not want to leave you. 

I pray that Lafayette will take care of you, and my wife. To leave her as a widow, and to leave my children fatherless, is the most selfish thing I will ever do. I wish I could ask you to convince her to remarry, but she is much like you in her ways and ideology. Did you know that was why I married her? She has a mind like yours, and a heart like Lilith’s. She has qualities I take from you both, and that is why I fell to love her so deeply. She will raise our children well. Strong. Look after them, will you? You raised us so well. Our deaths are not your fault, or father’s. Lilith loved so strongly, George was passionate for his practice, and I...Well I suppose I am just weak. Or maybe I love my brother too much. He was my closest friend, my dearest brother. I still remember when he and I were young. Often when we had nightmares, we would both go and sleep in with Lilith. She would have made a better mother than I am as a father. I work constantly, leaving my wife and daughters at home alone most times, except for when we visit you. George would have been a better father. He was certainly a better man, and a better lawyer. I’m so sorry, mother. It should have been me. Then you would at least have one son left. One child, who you have loved so dearly. I love you, mother, and I’m deeply apologetic for what I’m left to do. Forgive me, mother.

Your Eternally Loving Son, 

John Lafayette Derven

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_ I am cold without my children. Lost. I have lost them, every single one. From sickness, murder, and suicide...I have lost them. _

_ “Grand-mère, would you tell me another story about my papa?” John Jr. asks. I smile softly at my grandson, six years old. He looks just like his father.  _

_ “Did you not just ask for another story during lunch? Your grand-mère is going to run out of stories if you ask so much!” I tease him, tapping the end of his nose. He giggles and covers his nose, and I grin at him.  _

_ “I have a story about papa!” Lily says, skipping in with Lauren. They’re hand in hand, and they both sit down on the floor in front of John. John drops down to the floor to sit with them.  _

_ “When Lauren was just a baby, papa took me to this really pretty park. When we got to the lake, he pulled out a loaf of bread from his bag! I remember asking him,  _

_ ‘Papa! Why do you have bread?’ and he laughed. He said,  _

_ ‘Mon petit lis  _ **_(My little lily)_ ** _ , we’re here to feed the ducks!’ as if it were the most simple thing in the world! And I remember giggling and watching him tear pieces of bread off the loaf and throw it into the water, and the ducks came over and quacked at us! And then papa gave me some bread and I started feeding the ducks. On the way home, he let me ride up on his shoulders! It was so much fun!” Lily says. The story makes both her siblings and me laugh. I hadn’t heard this story until now. The front door opens, and I can hear happy chatter and laughter.  _

_ “Mama!” All three children cry, jumping up. They flock to the doorway, grabbing their mother’s skirt. Estelle and her daughter Margarita, who looks just like George, trail in behind Vivian. There are more happy shrieks when the children see their cousin, and they swarm around her for hugs. The four of them giggle, and their mothers chuckle.  _

_ “How was the market, Vivian? And Estelle, how are you, dear?” I ask them both. The two women manuever around their children and come to sit by me.  _

_ “Oh, it was lovely. There were so many different things about. Fabrics, spices, vegetables, everything you could possibly want,” Vivian says, smiling at me. I grin and nod.  _

_ “The market is always flourishing,” I comment. She chuckles and nods, and I turn to Estelle.  _

_ “And how are you, dear?” I ask again. She smiles.  _

_ “I’m well, Anastasia, very well. I’ve been busy taking care of Margie,” she says. I look over at my granddaughter and smile. When I’d suggested the name for my granddaughter, I hadn’t told her what the name meant to me. I don’t think I ever will.  _

_ “Margie, viens faire un câlin à grand-mère  _ **_(come give grandma a hug)_ ** _ ,” I coo at her. She giggles as she squirms out of her cousins’ embraces and hurries over to me, climbing into my lap.  _

_ “Hi.” She grins up at me. She’s missing a tooth, leaving a gap between her teeth. I smile back at her and kiss her forehead. I look up as Lafayette appears in the doorway. He grins down at the children, who grab his hands and pull him into the room. He even gets on the floor with them. I laugh, bringing his attention to me. Even after all these years, he makes me feel like a young woman, fresh and fiery. Ready to fight for the revolution. Margie climbs out of my lap and joins her cousins and grandfather. She cuddles into his lap, at which he laughs. He has stood by me for all these years. He crossed the ocean to be with me. He is my love.  _

_ I walk through the cemetery with the Hamiltons, on the 21st anniversary of Alexander’s death. We have done this every year since he died. Eliza holds onto my hand. She doesn’t need comfort anymore, though I know she still misses Alexander dearly. She simply holds onto me because I am a friend whom she still has, and the only one who joins her to visit Alexander’s grave besides their children. We stop before the grave, looking at the name carved into the stone. It’s been preserved well, over the years. There is no overgrowth, and the stone is still pristine. Eliza lets go of my hand and puts a bouquet of flowers against the grave. I step away, giving the family a moment to themselves. I may be the honorary “Aunt Anastasia,” but I’m not family by blood. I’m not a Hamilton. I notice that there’s a fresher grave nearby. It only looks a few months old. Curious, I wander over to see if it’s anyone I know. They must be particularly special to be buried next to Alexander. My eyes widen as I realize that I know them.  _

Hercules Mulligan.

_ Hercules is...Dead? When did this happen? _

September 25, 1740 - March 4, 1825

_ March? But that...That was only a few months ago. I saw him only a week before he died. I pause in front of the grave, feeling...I don’t know. I was his friend, but we weren’t close. Still, I cared about him. I pluck a few flowers from my bouquet and crouch down, laying them on the grave.  _

_ “I had no idea, Hercules. I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you sooner,” I mutter into the wind. A tingling against my hand. Almost like lips against my knuckles. Ha.  _

_ “I miss you. All of them, really. Tell them that,” I whisper, smiling a little. I receive no response, but a cool breeze swirls around me for a moment, and then is gone. Goodbye, Hercules.  _

_ I stare down at the letter that Lafayette has shown me. It is requesting he come back to France. I look up at him. _

_ “But...You’ve already served. You’re seventy two, mon amour. Going back would be incredibly dangerous,” I say, fearing for my love’s life. He’s much too old to go back and help with war. He wouldn’t...Would he? He frowns, not moving his sight from the floor.  _

_ “I must. I have a duty to my country,” he says softly. My hands grip tightly to the parchment, wrinkling it.  _

_ “But what of your duty to  _ me _? Even if you go back and make it there safely, you will be unfit to return. I will never see you again,” I say, beginning to cry. He slowly reaches out and takes my hand, looking up and meeting my gaze.  _

_ “I would come back to you. There is nothing I would not do to not come back,” he says, squeezing my fingers. I put the letter aside and turn more to face him.  _

_ “Do you promise?” I ask, putting my hand on top of his. He touches my cheek and kisses my forehead.  _

_ “Oui, mon amour, I promise.” _

_ Many of my employees are leaving on the ship with Lafayette. He has an island of freed slaves where they can live and further prosper. All are free to go, but five stay with me. Harrison, Charlotte, Marie, Cassandra, and Julius. Simply put, Harrison’s family and Marie. The rest are already on the ship, and have said their goodbyes.  _

_ “You will still write to us, won’t you, grand-père  _ **_(grandfather)_ ** _?” Lily asks as she hugs Lafayette. He squeezes her tightly and nods.  _

_ “Of course, mon lis  _ **_(my lily)_ ** _. I would not dream of not writing to you,” he says, pulling back and smiling at her. She nods and steps away, allowing her siblings and cousin room to say goodbye. Lauren’s goodbye is quick and tearful, and John Jr. won’t settle on a handshake. Lafayette quite literally scoops Margie up into his arms, making her laugh and throw her arms around his neck. He kisses the hands of my daughters-in-law and then finally comes to me.  _

_ “Do not forget your promise, my love,” I say, taking his hands. He smiles and kisses my forehead.  _

_ “Never, mon cher,” he says. I take a deep breath and embrace him, holding him tightly. He  _ will _ come back to me. He has promised it so.  _

_ “Je t'aime,” I mutter to him. He holds me tighter.  _

_ “Je t'aime aussi, mon bijou,” he whispers. We stand there for a long time, before he finally pulls away. He brushes a tear I hadn’t realized I’d shed from my cheek and smiles softly at me. I watch him board the ship and reach the point where I can no longer see him aboard. My grandchildren huddle around me, watching the man that has been their grandfather since birth sail away.  _

_ “Are you going to be alright, Anastasia?” Vivian asks. I take a deep breath and nod.  _

_ “I will be when he returns.” _

_ Lafayette has been having his son write to me while he is occupied. I’ve never met Georges, but he seems like a lovely man. Georges said in his last letter that Lafayette was preparing to come back to me. It has been four years since he left, and I miss him. I’m sitting in the dining room at the moment, eating the breakfast which Cassandra made for me, her family, and Marie.  _

_ “Miss Anastasia,” I look up, seeing Julius holding up a new letter, “It’s from Georges Washington de Lafayette.” I nod and finish chewing before holding my hand out for it.  _

_ “Merci, Julius,” I saw with a smile. He smiles back sweetly and leaves the letter in my hand, before going off to the kitchen to get breakfast from his mother. I carefully open the letter and unfold it. I expect it’s a letter telling me when his father is leaving and when I should expect him.  _

Miss Derven, 

I wish I did not have to be the one to tell you, but you deserve to know. I know that you love my father deeply. Sadly, I must reveal to you that passed on May the 20th. We are to have him buried at Picpus cemetery, beside my mother. I know he had promised you to return home to you, and I must assure you that he did plan to. In fact, he had packed for the journey back to you only days before he passed. I was never sure what to think of you until he returned four years ago. He loved you just as strongly as he loved my mother, and you brought him joy after her death. I must express my deepest thanks for the love you gave him over the 27 years he was away. I expect we will both grieve over his passing. 

With Grief and Sincere Condolences, 

Georges Washington de Lafayette

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_ I do not realize that there are tears rolling down my cheeks until I finish reading.  _

_ “Miss Anastasia?” Marie asks in alarm as she enters the dining room. I choke on a sob as I put the letter down and put my face in my hands.  _

_ “Miss Anastasia, what’s happened?” Marie asks, taking a seat next to me and putting a hand on my back.  _

_ “He’s dead,” I croak out, “my Lafayette is dead.”  _

_ I play with the ringing hanging around my neck. The three whom I loved so deeply are all dead. Peggy, Jonathan, and Lafayette. I lose more friends each year.  _

_ “You and Eliza are all that I have left, did you know that?” I ask, looking up at Aaron. He stares at the floor with his head propped up on his hands.  _

_ “You and my wife are all that I have,” he says. He does not like speaking to Eliza Hamilton. He feels guilt and pain every time he looks at her, even after all these years. I hold out my hand to him, and he smiles a little before taking it.  _

_ “I don’t plan on leaving you anytime soon,” I say softly. He squeezes my hand.  _

_ “Neither do I.”  _

_ “Twas only a year ago that you promised you wouldn’t leave me so soon,” I mutter, “I thought you told me you would never lie to me.” A tear rolls down my cheek as I look at the gravestone. His name curves across the stone.  _

Aaron Burr

_ I’m silent as I watch Harrison and Cassandra hug their children goodbye. They and Marie are sailing to the island of Lafayette’s freed slaves and my former employees. Harrison and Cassandra are staying with me, claiming to be much too old to survive the trip. I believe they simply do not want to leave me alone.  _

_ Cassandra and I each hold one of Harrison’s hands.  _

_ “Thank you, Harrison, for all the years you’ve been loyal to me. You were my first friend in the freedom from my father. I will always cherish you,” I say, smiling slightly at him as tears roll down my cheeks. He smiles up at me slightly and squeezes my fingers. Then, he’s gone.  _

_ “When you die, I will die,” I tell Eliza. She chuckles slightly and holds onto my hand.  _

_ Oh, sweet Eliza. I always thought it would be me who would go first. It breaks my heart that you’re gone. I sigh softly.  _

_ “Miss Anastasia, are you alright?” Cassandra asks, handing me a cup of tea. I hum, staring into the tea.  _

_ “My friends have all passed, Cassandra. And I am tired, so tired. I ache to be with them again,” I say, before taking a sip of the tea. She smiles softly at me.  _

_ “I know, miss. I miss my Harrison as well,” she says. I smile slightly.  _

_ “I feel it in me that my time is coming soon,” I say. I feel the spirits around me, warm and familiar. I’m not sure when I will join them, but I sense from their presence that it will be soon. Soon...Soon… _

_ I stare into the fire, listening to it pop and crackle.  _

_ “ _ _ Anastasia, can you hear me? _ _ ” I blink and look up.  _ John _. I feel tears welling into my eyes.  _

_ “Mon bien-aimé  _ **_(My beloved)_ ** _ ,” I whisper. He smiles, realizing that I can see him and hear his voice. It’s been over 70 years since I’ve seen his face, and heard his voice. He walks over and crouches down in front of me, touching my cheek.  _

_ “ _ _ It’s been a long time, my dear, _ _ ” he says. I feel the tears roll down my cheeks.  _

_ “I’ve missed you, John. I’ve missed you so much,” I whisper through tears. He smiles at me and nods. _

_ “ _ _ I’ve missed you too. We all have, _ _ ” he says. I blink.  _

_ “We?” I whisper in disbelief. He looks over his shoulder, and I look where his eyes have drifted. Skylar, my mother, Washington, Peggy, Philip and Lilith, Alexander, Angelica, Jonathan, my sons, Hercules, Lafayette, Aaron, Harrison, and Eliza. They smile at me. They’re all so much younger, in their prime. Their best selves at which I knew them. _

_ “ _ _ We’ve been waiting a long time for you, mother, _ _ ” Lilith says. Her hand is in Philip’s. They found their love within the afterlife. I nearly let a sob of joy escape.  _

_ “You’re all here,” I say softly. Peggy smiles and walks over to me. Her translucent blue form sits next to me on the sofa, and she takes hold of one of my hands. And I can feel her. I can feel her holding my hand. I squeeze it tightly.  _

_ “ _ Peggy _ ,” I gasp. She nods.  _

_ “ _ _ We’ve missed you, Ana, _ _ ” she says. I nod, tears of joy freely falling.  _

_ “This means it’s my time, then?” I ask. She nods. I look back at John.  _

_ “I’m ready,” I say. He smiles and nods. I’m pushed gently back against the back of the sofa, my head tilted back and looking at the ceiling. I close my eyes and I smile, letting myself relax. I feel a sharp tug on my hands and I’m pulled to my feet, but I feel...Lighter. _

_ “You can open your eyes now,” John says. I open my eyes. The room is the same, but somehow looks a bit different. I turn to look at the couch, and find my old, wrinkled body still sitting there. My chest does not move. I have died with a small smile on my face, my eyes closed.  _

_ “ _ _ Miss Anastasia? _ _ ” Cassandra walks in slowly, much slower in her old age. She sees me and pauses.  _

_ “ _ _ You were right, miss. I suppose your time was near, _ _ ” she mutters. I watch her for a moment, before looking at John, who still has my hand in his.  _

_ “We can go now, then?” I ask softly. He turns to me and nods, smiling. He closes his eyes, and I see a bright light appearing in my vision. It’s beautiful. I let go of my attachment to this world...And then Anastasia Reama-Derven is gone from the Earth, entering my new blissful heaven. Beautiful, beautiful...Beautiful. _

**Oh Shit the Flashbacks are FINALLY Over**

I gasp and stumble backwards, falling over into a chair. Tears roll down my face. That was...Me. My past life. I hear panicked footsteps coming toward me, and my mother bursts into the room.

“Anastasia, what is wrong?” she asks. I put my violin aside and jump from the chair, running to her and hugging her tightly. 

“I remember everything,” I sob, overwhelmed by everything. She shushes me and strokes a hand over my hair. I lost her. She died. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” she asks. I nod into her shoulder. We suddenly hear the front door open. 

“Ana? Charlotte?” We hear John call. I nearly start crying again as I rip myself out of my mother’s arms and run from the room, to John. He sees the state I’m in and quickly brings me into his arms. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks softly. I sob into his shoulder.

“I missed you so much,” I choke. I can tell he’s confused, but I find that I don’t have the emotional energy to explain. 

“She just remembered her past life,” my mother informs him. He nods and holds me tighter.

“Are we going to talk about it?” he asks. I nod. Without another word, he picks me up and carries me into the living room. He and my mother each sit on a side of me. I lean on him and he holds my hand tightly. 

“It’s okay, Ana. Just start from the beginning,” he says. I chuckle despite myself. 

“The beginning. Well…”


	11. Chapter 10: Fated Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memories of the past have come flooding back, creating a flood of emotions for Anastasia and John.

**Senior Year (Two Weeks Before Graduation):**

I look at the rain outside my window, watching as it pelts down on anyone unlucky enough to be stuck in it. I’ve always liked the rain. It’s pretty. I sigh and stare blankly out the window. I’m still not completely recovered from the Relive. Sometimes I’ll think of John and briefly think he’s dead, and that usually results in tears. I think about all the friends I had, and I wonder if I’ll meet them again in this life. I found John...Maybe I’ll find them too? I’m suddenly pulled from my thoughts as I see a boy running through the rain, arms over his head. But it’s not just  _ a boy _ . It’s John. I cock an eyebrow in confusion, and see he’s running toward my house. Immediately, I jump up from my window perch and run from the room. I get downstairs just as he starts pounding on the door. Clearly he doesn’t have his key with him. I go to the door and open it, immediately being embraced by my sopping wet best friend. 

“John?” I ask, concerned. He squeezes me tighter.

“I remembered,” he says into my shoulder. I relax and return his hug, ignoring that he’s getting my shirt all wet. He’s not crying, but he’s shaking. 

“Anastasia, dear, who was at the-” my mother’s question is interrupted when she sees us. She quickly walks over.

“Oh, John, darling, you’re soaked to the bone. We need to get you into dry clothes,” she says. John slowly nods, but doesn’t let me go. I run my hand up and down his back.

“Come on, mon amour. Let me take care of you,” I mutter. He nods and I pull back just a little, putting an arm around his shoulders and leading him through the house. 

“You should take a warm shower, alright? I’ll sit right outside if you need me,” I say. He nods silently and goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind him so that he can get undressed. I, on the other hand, quickly run upstairs to my room. He’s stayed the night enough times that he keeps clothes here. I get him something else to wear and grab a towel from the hall closet, before going back to the bathroom where I left him. I hear the shower running, but still knock.

“Come in,” he responds softly. I open the door and put his fresh clothes and the towel on the counter. 

“Anastasia?” I look toward the door, and my mother is standing outside the door. She points to where John has discarded his wet clothes on the floor and I nod. I pick them up and hand them to her, and she closes the door. 

“Why’d you run through the rain, love? You have a car,” I say, sitting down on top of the toilet seat. I cross my legs and stare down at my nails, picking at them slightly. 

“It ran out of gas a block from here,” he responds softly. I sigh. 

“Honey…” I trail off, unsure of how to respond. He’s quiet for a moment, and I can tell he’s just standing under the warm water. 

“Can I use your shampoo?” he asks softly. I chuckle a little.

“If you don’t mind your hair smelling like lavender and rosemary, go ahead,” I say. He chuckles a little himself, and I hear the cap open. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask after a moment. There’s a long pause, and I don’t push him. I sit in silence for a few more minutes, listening for anything wrong, before the water shuts off. I pick up the towel and stand up, walking over to the shower. I close my eyes as I hold the towel inside the shower for him. He takes it, then takes my hand and holds it. I squeeze his hand and run my thumb across it. His breathing stutters, and then he lets go. I take a step back and turn my back away, eyes remaining closed. I hear him dry off and get dressed before he buries his face into the crook of my neck and wraps his arms around my waist. I run my hands slowly up and down his arms, letting him stay there for as long as he wants. Eventually, though, there’s a wet spot on the back of my shirt from his hair dripping, which he mutters a soft apology for. He pulls his head away, and I turn around to look at him. He’s not crying, but he looks somewhere between upset and numb. I get another towel and have him sit down before I softly towel dry his hair. He closes his eyes and hums slightly. I haven’t seen him this quiet since Francis had to leave. He hasn’t let himself be seen like this since Francis left. When I finish drying his hair, I take his hand and pull him up. We leave the bathroom and I lead him upstairs to my room. I pull him down and we lay on my bed, both on our sides and facing one another. I don’t let go of his hand. When I squeeze his hand, he finally looks at me again. 

“I felt myself die again. I felt the fear and the sadness and the regret. And I was angry... _ So _ angry I wasn’t going to be able to go back to you, and my goddaughter. And I kept going to see you as a ghost, but I’d have to leave you and it hurt every single time…” his voice catches, and I shift closer to him, pressing my forehead against his. 

“But that was then, and we’re here now. I’m not going anywhere, honey,” I say softly, giving his hand another firm squeeze. He drapes an arm over my waist and closes his eyes, pulling me closer to him. 

“I love you, Ana. I don’t ever want to lose you,” he says softly. I tilt my head up and kiss his forehead, and he ducks his head and nestles it under my chin. I feel him relax. I can smell my shampoo in his hair, and I reach my arm over him to gently play with the ends of his curls. He sighs and melts into my hold. As I lay there, I think about how much he had to go through in his past life, only knowing the things I saw. I want to protect him from that pain. I love him so dearly, and I never want him to be hurt again. His breathing deepens, and I realize he’s fallen asleep. I kiss the top of his head and close my eyes, letting myself fall asleep holding him.

I’m awakened by a sudden jolt next to me, and ragged breathing. I open my eyes, and John is sitting upright, curled into a tight ball. I immediately sit up and touch his shoulder. He flinches, but quickly turns to look at me. I gently put my hand on his shoulder again, holding his almost fearful gaze. He practically jumps on me in the next second, wrapping his arms around me. His face is once again buried into my chest. I lay back down with him, holding him and running my fingers through his hair. He exhales a shaky breath against my skin, but neither of us speak. We silently lay there, staying in each other’s hold. He relaxes again over time, but I can tell he’s still awake, and far from calm. I think for a moment, trying to find a way to calm him down. 

“Can I count your freckles?” I ask. He lifts his head slightly to give me a confused look. He nods after a moment, and we turn onto our sides. He holds my gaze, and I smile softly at him as I push his hair back a little. 

“One,” I mutter, kissing his forehead. He jumps slightly and I pull my head back. He holds my gaze for a moment before smiling a little. I smile back. 

“Two, three, four, five, six, seven…” I leave a kiss somewhere different each time. His cheeks, the end of his nose, his eyelid. He ends up giggling, which is one of my favorite noises. 

“Feel better?” I ask. He nods and smiles, tucking me into his arms. I stay there silently for a minute, looking at him.

“C'était un cauchemar?  **(Was it a nightmare?)** ” I ask softly. He nods slightly and I squeeze him a little tighter. 

“Veux-tu en parler?  **(Do you want to talk about it?)** ” I ask. He sighs against me, but doesn’t move.

“You saved my life, but you died instead, and no matter how many times the dream replayed, I couldn’t stop you,” he mutters. He sounds like the words physically pain him to say, and it breaks my heart at a deep level. I take his hand and hold it between us, pushing my forehead against his. 

“I’m right here,” I say softly. He nods and pulls my hand up, kissing my knuckles. 

“I know. I just needed to see you to remember that,” he says. I smile a little and squeeze his hand. 

“You wanna stay here tonight?” I ask. He smiles a little bit and nods again. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

**John’s POV (WHAT?!):**

_ “Anastasia, please don’t go. Don’t leave me. Stay alive, please!” I sob, holding my best friend in my arms. She chokes, and I feel her blood soaking into my coat and breeches. A few tears roll down her face.  _

_ “Live,” she whispers, putting a hand over my heart. I watch her breathe her last breath, and then she falls limp, eyes staring blankly up at the sky.  _

_ “Ana! No, no... _ Ana _!” _

I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding. My eyes open to the dark room. Moonlight flickers in through the window, and I can make out the silhouette beside me. Anastasia is sleeping with her back facing me, and I scoot closer to press my forehead against her back. I can faintly feel the thump of her heart through it, and feel her breathing. I exhale with relief and close my eyes, focusing on her breathing. There’s suddenly a hand around my wrist, which pulls my arm over her. My palm is pressed flat against her chest, where I can feel her heartbeat properly. 

“M’ right here,” she mutters softly. I open my eyes and stare at the back of her head for a moment, before moving closer and squeezing her waist with my arm. I can tell this isn’t just a gesture to remind me that she’s alive, but also one to remind me that she’s real, and this isn’t a fucked up dream. I can feel the heat rolling off her in waves, and feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. Anastasia is safe. Pressing my face lightly into her hair, I relax and let myself fall back asleep, fear - at least for the moment - completely absent. I can say with certainty that some universal fate has made sure she is always by my side. My best friend. My Anastasia. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't plan on having different points of view often, but I thought it was a sweet note to end on.


End file.
